rent&romance
by onlyfm
Summary: "Tell that dragonslayer of yours that if he is planning to live here with you, the least he can do is make sure your rent is paid on time."/ If Lucy's scary landlady has to become a matchmaker to make a sale and get her rent money, then so be it. But she is definitely still pissed. nalu
1. prologue: let me tell you a story

this was supposed to be a nalu matchmaker oneshot told through the perspective of a scary old lady, but it quickly got out of hand.

multichapter.

oh and Lucy's landlady is called martha...

(very lightly edited)

* * *

Prologue

"...let me tell you a story..."

* * *

Years later when Lucy discovers just how much her landlady knows about her private life, she is visibly uncomfortable.

"Tell that dragonslayer of yours that if he's planning to live here with you," the little old lady says, wrinkled hands planted firmly on her hips, _"_ that _the least_ he can do is make sure your rent is paid on time."

Lucy sputters, and freshly polish fingers accidentally drop the package that she had been holding.

And even though the number of people who could be sending her valuable items has significantly decreased in recent years―and she seriously doubts the package could be from _him_ ―she still winces as the label describing the mysterious package as 'fragile' lands sideways and the box hits the floor with a hard thud. The sound of glass, or maybe clay, hitting the ground rings in the air and for a brief moment Lucy feels bad for whoever sent her…whatever was in the box. _Brief_ because considering the destructive force of her friends the 'fragile' item probably wouldn't have lasted that much longer in her apartment.

Plus if it really was from him, this really was the kindest way for it to go.

"Do be careful," her landlady scolds, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose as she looks at Lucy sternly, as if she is not responsible for the blonde's sudden lack of grip,"Unless you want me to add any damages to your rent this month."

"No, no. Sorry." Lucy replies, shaking her head fervently because the last thing that she needs―especially with the day she's having so far―is to pay anyone any more money. And considering she hasn't been on a job in two weeks and the only thing standing between her and the cold, hard street is a few thousand Jewel, she doesn't have the money to pay for the repairs even if she wanted to.

But it can't be helped.

Housing Natsu these last few weeks, while amazing for Lucy's more carnal and emotional needs, is _seriously_ depleting her living funds.

She hadn't really considered how much food the dragonslayer actually ate before it became _her_ responsibility to ensure that there was still something left in the house after each of his feasts. And while she had previously found his mammoth appetite oddly endearing―because if Natsu wasn't ingesting inhumane quantities of food, aflame or not, there was clearly something very wrong―now? It was nothing more than a nuisance. One that meant that she was now spending more time and more money at the market than she had ever planned to, as well as dedicating a substantial amount of her budget to stocking up on white paint. Because somehow her white walls always ended up covered in soot, no matter how many times she reminded Natsu not to eat fire in her very white, very flammable apartment.

Not to mention the added stress of ensuring her landlady remained blissfully unaware of the fire hazard occurring every day at dinner time―because not only did Natsu eat copious amounts of food and fire but he also liked to set all of his food on _fire_ ―was definitely going to have her hair going grey before she even hit twenty-five. That, or give her a heart attack.

But as much as she may complained about Natsu's eating habits―hourly, because that was how often she caught him creeping around the kitchen with flame in hand―she really has no plans to kick him out. She loves him and she loves being there every morning when the sunlight hits his peaceful sleeping face and she has the chance to count each of the tiny freckles that are dotted around his nose in the summer. Loves being the first thing he sees when he wakes up and watching that lazy morning smile spread across his face like wildfire as he greets her. Loves how the sheets slip off his arms as she reaches for her and pulls her close. These last few weeks with Natsu have made her greedy and admittedly a little bit needy but she doesn't really care. He is hers just as much as she is his and she will have him there for as long as she wants. And she doesn't think she'll get sick of his sharp smiles and childlike laughter anytime soon. Not when they have become her definition of home.

Oh god. She is so far gone, so really what else can she do? White paint was just going to have to become a necessity at this point.

Regardless, there is no way she could afford to renovate the wooden floors of the hallway and still pay her rent. And knowing her shrewd landlady, she might just take advantage of the situation and have the blond renovate the entire hall.

And then _still_ put her out at the end of the month.

Nope. There was no way Lucy was going to let that happen.

"You just caught me off guard is all, ma'am."

"I did, did I?" She chuckled. "I would have thought it would take a lot more than that to unnerve a Fairy Tail wizard."

"It usually does. But I've just been out of sorts recently." Lucy rubbed her forearm nervously." I think I'm just tired, ma'am."

"I don't doubt it, dear." Something akin to a grin spreads across the old lady's face. "If my boyfriend looked like that I'm sure I'd be tired too."

"Whaa?" Lucy nearly chokes. "No, ma'am. I promise it is n―"

"Not what I think?" The landlady interrupts, making a dismissive gesture. "You thought I wouldn't notice that the walking fire hazard entered your apartment nearly three weeks ago and still hasn't left?" She sighs." And didn't I tell you to call me Martha?"

Half-hearted denials attempt to make it out of her suddenly slack jaw, but the wall of embarrassment that has planted itself firmly in Lucy's throat blocks them and anything resembling an intelligent response. She tries to come up with a coherent response to her landlady's blunt statement― _Miss_ _Martha_ , she corrects herself, _no need to keep the relationship professional when the scary old lady admits to knowing intimate details of your love life_ ―but her mind goes completely blank and confusing half sentences are the most that she can manage. And She is vaguely aware that the nonsensical spurts of noise escaping her lips no doubt make her look absolutely insane to her landlady.

 _Oh god._

Not only to her landlady but _her neighbors_ , who have undoubtedly heard the thud of the package she dropped and are now watching the scene unfold with greedy eyes from the safety of the peepholes on their doors. And she is sure her wide eyed shock and lack of makeup is not making her look any less crazy to her already gossip hungry neighbors. _Oh god._ If the embarrassment from Martha's words doesn't send her to an early grave then the rumors that will most likely spread―she can actually _hear_ the snorts of laughter coming from apartment 3A―about her mental state surely will.

She avoids the landlady's eyes, choosing instead to inspect the pattern of the carpet and fidget with the golden band adorning her right index finger. The old lady just grins knowingly as a deep blush spreads across Lucy's cheeks and up the back of her neck.

Martha laughs, a sound that is hearty and rich but somehow still mocking, and tells the young wizard to _relax_.

It is valuable advice that Lucy ignores in favor of rambling and shaking and blushing _and asking_.

 _Why, why, why._ Question after question, so quickly that her landlady has no space to answer, before Lucy going completely silent, her pretty face scrunching in confusion.

"How do you know any of this, Miss Martha?" She finally asks.

The smile that graces the landlady's face, let's Lucy know that she has clearly made a mistake.

But before she can grab her package, escape into her smoky apartment and back into the arms of her―presumably still shirtless―dragonslayer, the landlady grabs her arm and pulls her into the apartment adjacent to hers with a strength that has Lucy stumbling into the living room in mere moments. Martha plops into a comfy looking leather chair and motions for Lucy to follow suit. Hesitantly, Lucy sits in the oversized comforter across from her landlady, taking in the surrounds and marveling at the decor.

It wasn't really surprising that the layout of the apartment was almost exactly like that of her own.

There were only six other apartments in her building so for them to be somewhat similar was not only to be expected, but it made perfect business sense. She had even heard her father talking to investors about the importance of having a simple layout when it came to the real estate market. Something about having a floor plan that was suitable for many different types of people and the various outrageously expensive pieces of decor they may wish to bring, as not to limit the clientele base. It allowed the buyer to envision the place as their own even before the sale was finalized. Granted, Jude Heartfillia had been talking about renting a few of the overpriced penthouse suites he owned around Fiore, but Lucy was sure the sentiment could be applied to the―somewhat more reasonable―apartment market in Magnolia.

But what captured Lucy's attention was the simple elegance of the room.

The white walls were adorned with nothing but black photo frames filled with pictures of people of various ages laughing and smiling, with a slender purple-haired girl―then teenager, young woman, adult, and finally landlady― the only constant amongst the numerous faces. Other than the leather chair, cream comforter, and glass coffee table there was very little furniture in Miss Martha's living room. The entire room was so clean―almost _clinical_ ―and monochrome that Lucy had trouble imagining her colorful landlady actually living in it. It looked more like a showroom, from the copies of Sorcerer's Weekly spread in a perfect arch across the table to the straight line up of vases at the base of a lacrima powered fireplace.

It was all meticulously placed.

The only signs of her landlady's presence at all was the expensive looking, if not slightly tacky, fur rug draped across the floor of the room and a large decorative black candle stand covered in golden etching that took up a quarter of her windowpane.

The lower body of the stand was covered in golden lines, thin and thick, interweaving and spreading across the black body like a carefully spun web. And covering the body of each individual candle holder were tiny stars, golden and plump, placed to replicate some constitutions that she recognizes.

Aquarius. Cancer. Leo.

Lucy found herself staring at it.

The rough edges and odd indents where she could tell an inexperienced blacksmith―or maybe an overzealous artist―had worked did not detract from its beauty. On the contrary, it gave the candle stand a quaintness that no doubt came from the workman's determination and…love. She was sure of it. This had been a piece forged from the passion of someone's love. In fact, even unlit, as the candle was, a warmth radiated from the unusual piece. It buzzed in the air, subtle and all encompassing. Like magic. And, Lucy found herself thinking, it was strangely familiar. Mostly because it seemed to swirl and commune around her landlady, mixing with her natural vibrancy so closely that Lucy was sure that the old lady couldn't even feel the difference anymore.

But there was also something else.

Something special that had her skin warming and a shiver running down her spine.

It really was _beautiful_.

"I should have known that idiot wouldn't fill you in on all the details."

Lucy turns from the candle stand to face her landlady. She drops eye contact as quickly as she managed to establish it when she sees the mirth playing in her landlady's blue eyes.

"You mean Natsu?"

"Yeah. The flame thrower." Martha sighs, pulling her glasses off her face and wiping them with the hem of her purple blouse. "No wonder you've been walking around here trying to be all…what is the word? _Inconspicuous_."

"Trying?!" Lucy squeaks.

Martha ignores her.

"For all the headaches it caused me, it was probably _less noticeable_ when you were sneaking him in through your window." Martha says unapologetically. "If you wanted to keep 'it' hidden then it was probably a bad idea for him to use the front door. Not that I blame you for trying. It was probably difficult seeing as that oaf doesn't seem to know the definition of the word 'discreet'. But he's all about those antonyms, isn't he?" She laughs and Lucy begins to welcome the idea of dying here on this comfy little comforter. "In fact, can you tell him to stop slamming it every time he leaves? I swear he does it just to spite me." At the very least she would leave behind a beautiful corpse. "Well, at least he's stopped climbing through your window like some kind of pervert."

Lucy's seemingly permanent blush deepens to a dark rouge and all she can say is…

"Y-you knew about that?"

"Knew about it? The whole freaking town knew about it!" Martha exclaimed, shaking her head before casting an accusatory glance at her blond tenant." I found out a couple years ago. No thanks to you."

Lucy's gaze drops to the floor as shame spreads from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her landlady chuckles, a sound colored with nostalgia.

"In fact, that's how this whole mess started in the first place."

There it was again.

It seemed today her landlady was full of nothing but embarrassing one liners and confusing vagueness. But at this point―it really doesn't surprise her. Her whole day has been filled with nothing but strange encounter after strange encounter and quite frankly she is beginning to grow tired of the emotional roller-coaster her boyfriend, friends and landlady have decide to take her on.

She'd woken up to the smell of smoke, only to discover that for whatever reason Natsu had decided that today was the day he would try to burn down her apartment.

There he'd stood shirtless―and although she had savored a glance at his toned torso, for once it hadn't been enough to make the blond forget about her soot covered kitchen or the incessant bleeping of the fire alarm―and downright giddy in the middle of his disaster. He'd been spewing some nonsense about "Happy Anniversary!" and "I wanted to make you breakfast, Luce!" and "You forgot? And you call me a scatterbrain." while she had struggled not to cough up her entire respiratory system. It had taken everything Lucy had not to throttle him on the spot. Instead she'd simply shifted through the piles of clothing decorating her living room floor―courtesy of a rather heated session with the idiot currently standing in her doorway― before fishing her wallet from the back pocket of yesterday's jeans. Lucy had then slide on her shoes and informing her boyfriend that as the only _responsible_ adult in the room she had to run to the market and buy some more white paint to cover the new stains adorning her once pristine walls. And with one foot out the door she had ordered that he wait in her room and _for god's sake, please don't move till I get back_.

It had only gotten weirder when she ran into Erza and Grey, who both seemed surprised that she was carrying a pint of white paint back to her apartment instead of being in her apartment. (She had found their sudden interest in that small detail rather odd, but considering the hectic start to her morning, she had deliberately ignored it.) And when she'd informed them about Natsu's kitchen disaster they had seemed almost sympathetic…for him. Erza had been unable to meet her eye and she swore on Mavis that she had even heard Grey mutter "Poor pathetic flame brain. Should have just told her…".

Which was unquestionably weird.

And now she's basically been kidnapped by her―strangely knowledgeable―landlady.

And honestly, she thinks that she has put up with enough foolishness for one day.

"I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about. "The celestial wizard says, placing a slender hand on the arm of the couch and readying herself for a hasty exit. "And I have a lot of things I have to do today, ma'am," her landlady clears her throat, "Miss Martha. So if that's all you wanted to talk about, I'll be going."

"Well, if that's what you want to do. I'm not going to stop you." Lucy nods politely, rising from the low couch and moving towards the door. But just as she's about to turn the knob―"I just thought you'd want the whole story."

Lucy pauses and is one hundred percent sure she will regret asking this later but…

"Story? What story?"

"What else?" Martha replied, peeking at Lucy from the top of her glasses with a smirk disturbingly similar to a certain fire dragonslayer. "The story of how I saved my reputation as a reliable and upstanding landlady…" Lucy twists the doorknob. "…and somehow managed to get you and your dragonslayer together at the same time."

Lucy's grip on the door slackens before her arm falls back down to her side.

"What?"

"If you want the whole story, dearie, you are going to want to sit down." Martha says. "Trust me."

Lucy gulps.

When Lucy discovers just how much her landlady knows about her private life, she is visibly uncomfortable. But when she discovers the extent to which her landlady has been involved in her love life, she very nearly _dies_.

* * *

 _"Hey. Go into the kitchen and grab a bottle of wine while you're up."_

 _"Okay, Miss Martha, but may I ask why?"_

 _"Just trust me, dear. We're going to need it for the conversation we're about to have."_

 _"Just what kind of conversation is this?!"_

 _"One that I don't want to have sober."_

* * *

I'd love to know what you think!

(next chapter will probably be very soon because it's already written and i have zero self control)


	2. a failed sale and what the hell?

and so it continues...

(in which Martha hates people)

.l.e.

* * *

Chapter 2

"a failed sale and... _what the hell_ "

* * *

It all begins―as all nonsense usually does―with a rumor.

Actually… _wait_.

Martha is almost one hundred percent sure that this annoying need to deny their attraction to one another, began much earlier than that crisp autumn morning for Natsu and Lucy.

Because at that specific point in time denials came as easily as breathing to the two of them. Explanations and excuses fell from their lips with practiced ease. Laughter, light and carefree, filled the air as they disregarded any and all suggestions that _whatever this is_ between them wasn't wholly platonic. Unspoken questions hung so high above them, ever present, like the sun. Warming their skin and igniting sparks that tickled their fingers with every shared touch―but also blinding if they looked too close.

It was all rather impressive. T

he sheer strength of their denial. She is sure that it requires a hell of a lot of practice, commitment, and a concrete will to maintain the level of delusion that those two were under. So if she was to guess, she would say that both Natsu and Lucy had been, unnecessarily, dealing with their stunted romance for a few years prior to her involvement in their personal affairs.

(Which was perfectly fine, of course. It was their business. They would deal with it whenever they were ready. And honestly Martha would have been happy to never be involved in the romantic entanglements of the two hormonal young adults in the first place.

That is, until it started to affect her sales. And then, of course, it wasn't fine. Not by a long shot. )

But for her?

The entire thing actually begins with a rumor, a failed sale and an annoying pink-haired pervert.

* * *

And honestly, the failed sale was all that had mattered to her at the time―the rumor is just what gets the ball rolling.

* * *

"And this is the living room. " She said, as she stepped into the modest sized room with a warm smile on her face.

If the family she is showing the apartment to notices that her smile sits strangely on her face―it is a tinge too wide, slightly too bright, and doesn't seem to belong on her face―they do not comment. _Nope_. At this point in the viewing the couple is completely bewitched by both the charm of apartment 4A and the charisma radiating from their tiny saleswoman.

Just as she would expect this far onto a viewing. It is all going according to plan and she has them wrapped around her little finger. And soon enough, she will have her hands wrapped around their hefty deposit.

"And here is the kitchen." She gestured to the oak surfaces and the laminate flooring of the kitchen space. "And as you can see, it is very modern and even has an open plan. Perfect for you to whip up all the masterpieces you want and still keep an eye on your little angel, Mr Ryes. And the breakfast bar is the perfect place to watch while he does it. Don't you think, Mrs Ryes?"

Her voice was completely corporate, polished and authoritative, but practice has allowed her to maintain an air the vibrancy and freshness. The very same, in fact, that had, in her youth, made her most successful female realtor this side of Crocus―and has kept her and her business at number one for over thirty years.

And it is this tried-and-tested approach that has Mrs Ryes beaming at her with a bright smile before she launches back into idle chitchat about how perfect the kitchen is and "Jana. J _ana look._ Even _Janet_ doesn't have a breakfast bar!"

Martha listens with the ear of a professional. Commenting were appropriate and sparing a few believable giggles at Mr Ryes jokes before guiding the family to the bedrooms with a few carefully selected words.

Years of practice has granted her the ability to adapt her somewhat gruff and sarcastic tone to suit whatever home hunter happened to enter her web, lulling the unwitting patrons into such a stupor that they'd sign whatever she told them with little to no resistance. It was an invaluable skill that she had spent years refining to hide the fact that, while she had no problem attracting clients to her―flowing purple hair, bright blue eyes and a generous chest had done the trick in her youth and as she had aged, her success and reputation had spoken for itself― she had very little interest in the people she showed houses to. And even less interest in those that weren't looking to line her pockets.

It was ironic really.

Considering the fact that her career was so customer oriented and success in said career meant having to not only subject herself to idle small chat, but excelling at it.

Though, it really wasn't something she worried about much.

People were fairly simple to understand because they were all, at their very core, the same. Whether they be a hardened criminal or the heiress of a grand estate, they were fundamentally identical. Each had a plan, an aim, and an agenda. And their personalities, their relationships and their lifestyles were nothing but facades. Masks for them to wear on their mission to achieve their goals. Human are built for self-preservation and their every action, whether they know it or not, is only ever about furthering themselves.

And she had always found them― _most of them_ ―to be dreadfully boring.

Because for one for whom the truth was so clear, they offered no challenge. No surprises, no diversity, no depth. Once she shifted through the grandeur and meaningless words they all had the same fault―they were selfish. Selfish and, more often than not, their masks were covered in cracks and ugly gaps. So it was easy, _so easy,_ to pick apart the illusion piece by piece.

Not that she was any better. Martha was a lot of things, including a few colorful words that had been used to refer to her on more than one occasion, but she wasn't foolish enough to think herself immune to her own humanity.

In fact she relied on it.

It made influencing and coaxing people easier when you could add pieces of their illusion to your own. When you could understand them so completely.

And that was why she was a landlady. Because _yes_. She was business savvy, shrewd and very good at her job. But also because she found it strangely...satisfying to find people a place where they could finally take their masks off. Where they could be their most genuine self away from this world shrouded in smoke and mirrors.

So on that day, when the young family―man, woman and ten year old daughter―looking for a spacious apartment fell right into her lap, she was ready. Complimentary words, as sweet as the chocolate chip cookies she held on her platter, fell from her mouth with practiced ease. Adored in her plain blue dress, white apron wrapped strategically around her waist, and lack elaborate jewelry, she beamed at them as soon as they set foot in her office.

The quintessential sweet old lady.

She swapped recipes with the man, Jana, and complimented his wife's dress. She ruffled their daughter's hair and laughed sweetly.

In fact, you could even call her tone _friendly_ as she showed Emily her potential new room.

Emily calls it small.

She says cozy.

Emily says the plain white walls are _totally_ boring.

She says they're the perfect blank canvas to embrace and nurture the imagination of such a vibrant and energetic young girl.

Emily calls her old, she smiles while patting the girl's hair and refrains from calling her a _little brat_.

She is polished, she is practiced, and she is one hell of a sales woman.

"I'm sorry," Jana said. They were out in the hall now, standing outside apartment 4A. The end of the brass key is clutched in her hand. The other half is still in the door. "But I just don't think this place is right for us."

His voice is vibrating with nerves and his eyes have yet to meet hers, instead choosing to follow after the retreating forms of his wife and daughter.

Martha froze.

"Sorry?"

"I'm so sorry, ma'am." He said. "This was a waste of your time."

"I'm not sure I understand what you're saying sir." She asked, the tone of her voice forces his brown eyes to make contact with her own. "Why was this a waste of my time? Was there something wrong with the apartment?"

He shook his head.

"No, ma'am."

"Was it the kitchen? Maybe you don't like the open plan design as much as you initially thought?"

"No, no. I love the kitchen."

"Bathrooms? Do you want another ensuite, after all? I know how important it is for young girls to have their own bathroom space."

"No. Two bathrooms is more than enough."

"Closet space?"

"Definitely not." He said. His voice lightens suddenly." Marge does _not_ need any excuse to buy more shoes."

"Then what is it? Was Emily's room too small?" She asks, and her words are colored in apprehension. "I could tell she wasn't exactly sold. Do you need a bigger room?"

"No. It's the perfect size for a ten year old." He said, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. "Honestly, you could have showed us a two story mansion with a pool and a bunch of ponies in the backyard, and Emily still wouldn't have been very happy."

"So is it Emily? Does she not want to move?" She pries―and she knows she shouldn't.

There is a thin line between feigning interest and being down right nosy―she has been on the receiving end of the latter enough times to know difference―and usually asking personal details about kids and family was a huge realtor no-no.

But his sudden and blunt rejection has completely blindsided her.

They had been the model family. The kind of clients that were almost _too easy_ to please. And this had seemed like such an easy sell and

honestly, now, she is grasping at straws.

She was supposed to be a professional and if she really was losing her touch with old age, she'll be damned if she lets this mousy young man and his bratty daughter be the ones to bring her to that realization.

So she pries.

"I know moving can be hard on kids her age. I moved around a lot in my childhood myself. Maybe I can talk to her? See if I can help?"

She hopes this is it. Bratty daughters? She can deal with. Has dealt with bratty children all throughout her career so she is more than equip to deal with this particular little _angel_.

"That's a lovely thought, Miss Martha." He said, seemly touched by her offer. She resists the sudden urge to slap him." But we've eased her into the idea. I think she'll be okay here in Magnolia."

"Then what?" She asked, a touch more forceful than might be justified. "I thought you loved this place."

"We do. " He insisted. "It's absolutely perfect."

She feels the irritation, pure and potent, beginning to build even before it warms the back of her neck. But she has been in this business for too long, been too successful in her craft, given up too much to take no for an answer. So she tightens her grip on the door handle, an action that was meant to be subtle but still causes the lanky young man to jump slightly. But it is still better than replacing the door knob with his neck. Which is what she _really_ wants to do. So with that reassurance she turns back to him.

"If it is _so perfect_ ," She asks. "Then what is the _problem_?"

He doesn't answer, choosing instead to shift his eyes to the ceiling and then back down to the carpet.

"If this apartment isn't to your liking," She continues with a smile. She wants to _kill_ him. "I have others you may be interested in. Just let me know what you didn't like about this one and I'm sure I can find a more suitable one for you."

"No really. That's quite alright."

She swallows. Then it must be…

"Is it," She asks. She prays that he does not pick up the sudden higher pitch of her voice or the sweat on her palms. "Is it the rent? Is it too high?"

He blinks―once, twice, thrice―and her stomach plummets.

"If that is it, I'm sure we can reach some kind of agreement. I'm a reasonable woman. " _Somewhat_." We can talk."

"What?" He laughs. And she can feel her murderous urge pulse. " _No, no_. The money is not a problem. In fact this place is slightly _under_ our budget."

"Then what," she can almost taste the frustration in her voice and at this point she really doesn't care that he can probably hear it too, "pray tell is the problem?"

"N-nothing!"

She stares at him and blinks.

"Tell the truth."

"I am!"

"Now, Mr Ryes…"

"Miss Martha, I―"

"Tell. The. Truth."

"I can't. It's not app―"

She grips the doorknob again. He swallows.

"Mr Ryes." She said, in a voice that balances resentment and kindness in the way only she can achieve. "If there is something I should know then please. _Tell. Me_."

"Well…It's just…well," He stuttered." I-I just don't think it would be appropriate for me to discuss this with you! It's rather...crass."

 _Crass_. She quirked a brow.

"I'm sure my poor old heart can take it."

"I'm not so sure."

"Try me." She replied, deadpan.

"Okay, look," and for once he meets her gaze straight on, through the red dusting his cheeks lets her know he is still horribly uncomfortably," Before we came to you, we went to another estate agency here in Magnolia. When we told her we planned to talk to you before making our final decision, we could tell she wasn't happy. And normally, I'd ignore any kind of talk from a rude and jealous realtor―it really is a dog eat dog business, Miss Martha, I don't know how you manage it―but the wife just loves that kind of thing. I think it's the drama. _Actors_. You know?" Sadly, she did know. She had been on the receiving end of more of Mrs Rye's dramatic spells than she cared to remember. It wouldn't have been too bad, if the lady could act." When she told her about…what goes on here, she was _engrossed_ in the story. _I_ didn't wanna hear it. It was just seemed so crazy and…slanderous that I was sure she was making the whole thing up. I mean who wouldn't have thought that? It was unbelievable. And I told her as much. 'There's no way Miss Martha runs a place like that,' I said."

Martha blinked.

 _What_? "What?"

"I said," He looked concerned again." 'There is no way Miss Martha ru―"

"No, no. I was simply thinking out loud." She interrupts. "Please, dear. Continue."

"Oh. Alright then." He says." Where was I?"

Martha resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"Oh, yes." He said. "But Marge was hanging on the old hag's every word and…the lady was so over the top. You should have seen her, Miss Martha. You could just tell she was enjoying herself. _I_ , for one, was having none of it." His eyes shifted. "At least…until a passer-by started backing her up. And I know it's still hearsay but…well…it made the whole thing sound pretty believable."

A rather awkward moment passes as Martha stares at the side of Jana's face while he is seemly engrossed in the brass numbers on the apartment door. This man is an idiot.

"Mr Ryes." She said. He made no move to react.

She sighed.

"Mr Ryes? You haven't told me anything."

"Sure I have." He said, eyes moving from the door to the floor. "I told you what happened."

Martha's left eye twitched.

"No, Mr Ryes. No, you didn't." She said through gritted teeth. "You've said a whole _bunch of words_. But you haven't _told me anything_ , Mr Ryes."

"I don't know what you mean."

"What did they," Martha made a note to find out which wanna-be realtor was busy flapping their gums instead of making any sales, "say about me?"

"Oh. Miss Martha." Jana shook his head. "You've got it all wrong. It wasn't about you."

"What was it about then?"

"It was about…well…"

That was it. She was done encouraging this ridiculous conversation.

"Spit it out, Mr Ryes!" She exclaimed.

"Pervert!"

She blinked and then looked at Mr Rye's suddenly red face. Then blinked again.

"Excuse me?"

"Hm?" He squeaked.

His cheeks were slightly puffed, the effort only adding to the redness of his face, and his eyes had shut. He looked like he was about to pass out.

"For the love of god, Jana." She said, all formalities having left with the very last shred of her patience. _"Breathe_."

Jana inhaled and as the redness slowly left his face, Martha rolled her eyes.

"I'm okay." He said. "I'm okay."

"I'm glad." Martha couldn't find it in her to even fake concern. "Now, what did you say, Mr Ryes."

"Oh yes." He said, clearing his throat and this time, rather impressively, looked Martha right in the eyes. "She told us that a flaming pervert climbs into the bedroom windows of your apartment building looking for young girls."

* * *

And that was _really_ how all this started.

* * *

the first real chapter with actual plot! let me know what you think...


	3. can and do

a couple people make a little appearance (really really little...blink and you might just miss it...)

(in which Martha just gets angrier and angrier...)

l.e.

* * *

Chapter 3

"...can and do..."

* * *

Mr Rye is an idiot.

He's proven as much. What with his unnecessary babbling, blushing, and…beating around the _goddamn_ bush.

Because apparently annoying her would make the news any easier to swallow. As if he wasn't aware that the longer he stalled, the longer this vicious and idiotic rumor would circulate and the more damage her reputation would take. Because apparently _Jana Rye_ thought that would help her process the news easier. As if beating around the bush has _ever_ made _any_ situation better.

Or ever made any damn sense.

Why run around in verbal circles when being straight forward and facing your problems head on was so much more effective? Why waste time finding the warm and cozy way to have a conversation that will only end up being difficult, anyway? Why piss her off any more than necessary?

Martha loathes people who beat around the bush.

And so she isn't particularly fond of Mr Rye in that moment―and she made no efforts to hide it, her nice girl act had gone straight out the door a long time ago―but as much as she wants to call him a liar…she just can't.

Because while he _is_ an idiot, Martha is an _incredibly_ good judge of character. And as far as she can tell, from his clear eyes and his genuine concern, he is not a liar. _God_. The sincerity might as well be written across his forehead in some aggressive black maker for how obvious it was.

No challenge _whatsoever_.

It kind of makes her sick.

So when he tells her about this she has no choice but to believe him.

"Miss Martha?" He said, his eyes are brimming with worry and his scrawny hands are suddenly gripping her shoulders. She looks down at his pale fingers, and wonders when exactly they got there. Her curiosity is rather brief, though, seeing as she clearly has more important things to worry about than some stupid middle aged man touching her shoulders when her business could be on the brink of ruin because of some…some… _oh god_ …"I knew I shouldn't have said anything. Are you okay, Miss Martha?"

The sympathy― _pity_ , a spiteful voice in the back of her mind says― in his voice isn't surprising.

She is aware of the picture she must be painting right now. The poor, frail old lady shocked by the slanderous rumour circulating about her only form of income, her livelihood. It's a sight that no one with a working heart could possibly ignore without being plagued by their conscious for days, and she has even used a similar gambit to steal clients from competitors once or twice during her slower business days (not that she has many of those, thankfully). But it was never something she enjoyed. Something about the sorry expressions that remained on the clients faces as she steered them towards her office always made her uncomfortable.

And now, as she looks up into his eyes, the only thing that stops her from squirming under his gaze is pride. But she can't deny that the heat of his gaze still burns into her skin. The heat on her skin―embarrassment, shame, anger? ―so intense that it demands her attention. She feels it pulling and prodding her. Surrounding her till she feels it building in her lungs and the feeling is so real that she swears she is drowning in it. And she doesn't quite know whether she should be touched by the depth of emotion this man, whom she does not even wish to know, is showing for her or to be disgusted by the heart that he so clearly wears on his sleeve?

She steps out of his grasp and shakes her head, hoping the motion will organize her thoughts but… _oh my god_. Her mind cannot focus on anything but the look in his eyes and how it may be warranted should his word hold true.

"I'm okay, Mr Rye." She said. It's a lie. And she is sure that even Jana can tell, but she tells it anyway. "I hope you know―"

"That it's not true?" Martha's eyes widen and Jana chuckles awkwardly. "I figured as much."

She hates to admit it, but that does make her feel better. If only enough that she can once again look him directly in the eyes.

"So," she started, "can I persuade you to still take the apartment?"

He frowned.

"I'll be honest with you, Miss Martha." Jana sighed." If it were just me and Marge we'd snatch this place up right now."

He crossed his arms, and looked down at the small woman.

"I mean it's a great place and _it is_ within our budget. But we have Emily. And after what those two told us, this…" He gestured at the apartment door. "This just isn't the kind of environment we want to raise our daughter in. Even if it is just a rumor."

"I thought you said you didn't believe it?" She retorts.

Jana sighs again, and the sound of it just makes her angrier.

"It really doesn't matter if I believe it or not. The fact is that whatever may or may not have been happening here is out _there_ now. _Other people believe it_. And they associate this building," he places a placating hand back on her shoulder, "and your business with it. And I'd rather they didn't associate my family with it too."

"Whoever is spreading this rumor is lying." She says, throwing her hands up in outrage. "I can sort this all out."

He raises a brow at that. "Really? How?"

"Just give me her name. I'll talk to whoever is spreading these disgusting rumours and have this whole thing sorted out before the ink on your lease even has time to dry."

He sighs.

"I guess I can give you the name." He said. "But we won't be taking this apartment, Miss Martha. I'm sorry."

"I don't understand."

"I'm sure you'll give it your all but I can't make them wait for that." He says, and for once his voice is firm. "And in all honesty, I'm not sure what you can do."

"What do you mean by that?"

"From what I hear." He paused, moving his hand to rub at his chin." Whatever is going on in this place has been happening for a long time. That lady said _years_."

"I already told you―"

"And," he interrupted," I believe you when you say you don't know anything about it. But if this has really been going on for that long then some _one_ had to know some _thing_ , don't you think?"

"What exactly are you implying, Mr Rye?"

"That maybe a tenant may have been doing something less than legal on your premise?"

"I know the kind of people I do business with. "She openly glared at the man, and to his credit he only flinched away slightly. "None of them would be involved in something as ridiculous as this."

"How can you be so sure?"

She froze.

"What?"

"You live in a cottage slightly out of town, don't you? It must be quite a trek all the way from the outskirts to the town centre." He said. "Not to mention this isn't the only apartment building you own in Magnolia, is it?"

"And what has that got to do with anything? Are you implying that I don't know what goes on in my own buildings?"

"Not at all." He say. "It's not a matter of how much you _do_ know. I just wonder how much you _can_ know."

* * *

 _"_ _Makorov Dreyer."_

 _"_ _What?"_

 _"That's the name of the old man that the realtor called over to verify her story_ _."_

 _One._

 _"Dreyer?"_

 _"Yeah. He's old, kind of short, snow white hair? Do you know him?"_

 _Two._

 _"_ _Oh."_

 _Three._

 _"WHAT THE HELL?!_ _That balding, elf-looking, short ass motherfuc-"_

* * *

Martha hates for gossip for two equally important and highly specific reasons.

Firstly, on the rare occasions when she had been invited―or forced―to partake in what always promised to be the 'hottest piece of gossip you will ever hear, Martha. _I swear._ ' she has always been sorely disappointed. And the look of deflated glee that always ended up on the face of the poor soul who decided to keep her informed only added to her disappointment. She would never understood why females―and males alike, who disregarded gossip an inherently feminine trait while flapping loose lips in bars and barbershops―found such joy in it.

But, she supposed, it really wasn't anyone's fault.

It's just that discussing the bakers decade long affair with the owner of the local laundromat, didn't interest her in the slightest. When asked about her blatant indifference by the local women _―"Don't you find it interesting, Martha? Even a little bit?"_ ―she had said nothing. Because quite honestly she did not want to have the discussion shift from the adulterous activities of the baker to herself when she revealed that backstabbing, deceit, and trickery were nothing new to her. Growing up as she had, had meant that she had been surrounded by a constant stream of the of negativity. The type of negativity that had serious, life-altering consequences. The type of negativity that she would rather not discuss. In fact, if other people associated home with the scent of freshly baked pies and their mother's warm smile, she associated it with the smell of dusty books and the mocking laughter that would fill her room every night when her mother would share scandalous stories while brushing her only daughter's hair. So when she hears the housewives tales while stopping to pick up flowers for her office or a cup of coffee to get her through the day, an attentive ear and a polite smile are the most she can offer before sneaking away.

In fact, while the other ladies discussed the baker-laundromat debacle with hushed whispers and feminine giggles, she had been lamenting her weekly order of macaroons and the lemon scent that usually filled her apartment when her clothes came back freshly cleaned. Because she was sure the wife would eventually burn both places to the ground.

Secondly, it always reminded her of her mother. And that never failed to put Martha in a bad mood.

So in that foul mood she made her way to the front door of the Fairy Tail guild hall because there was only one person in all of Magnolia who found almost as much unadulterated joy from sharing and spreading gossip as her mother.

"Would you miscreants cut it out?! If you keep this up this whole place will come down right on top of us. Is that what you all want? To fork out even more money to pay for a fourth guild hall?"

And with that she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"I know it was you, damn it!"

The room fell silent as the wizards all turned to look at her. They weren't very happy and rightfully so. She had just kicked in their guild door and from the pained groans, apparently hit the old man with it in the process. Makarov stepped out from behind the door, rubbing his head and cursing at the floor. She chuckled at the the baby glares she received from the wizards and warlocks dotted around the room. They were warranted, she guessed. After all she had basically attacked their guild master, but as far as she was concerned the old far deserved it. And so she glared right back at them all, taking pleasure as a number of the mightiest wizards in Fiore shrunk away from her gaze and ignoring the sight of one busty blonde wizard sneaking out the side exit like a frightened toddler.

Her smirk deepening as Makarov Dreyer's finally lifted his head and locked eyes with her. His eyes widened and the slightest wobble could be seen in his stance.

She smirked. _Good_ , she thought, _he still remembers_.

"M-martha," the wizard saint stutters, "how have you been?"

Laughter erupts throughout the wizards still watching the display before being silenced by a heated glare from their bumbling master. The sight was almost impressive. The sight of the shirtless wizard turning paler, the pink haired wizard turning green, the red head bashing an armored hand against her forehead, and the blue haired wizard bursting into an inhuman volume of tears that pool at her feet are all rather entertaining. That is, until the man turns back toward her and shrinks.

She rolled her eyes. Pathetic.

"Cut the small talk, Dreyer."

"I was going to come see you about the rent, Martha! I _promise_! It's just…I've been kind of busy, you know? Running the guild and―"

"Your rent is always late. Honestly, I expect it now." She says. The sound of a nearby wizard chuckling―"Look! Gramps is shaking in his boots, Happy!"―followed by the sound of metal hitting bone rings through the air as she looks at Makarov's nervous face. He catches her eyes and replaces his grimace with a very tooth and very fake smile. _Pathetic_. "I'm not here for that today."

The guild master lets out a shaky breath before straightening. "Then what can Fairy Tail do for you, Martha?"

"Don't get me wrong," the smile on her face is downright evil, "I might not be here for the rent but I am most certainly here for _you_."

Makarov gulped. "M-me?"

"Yes, Dreyer. _You_."

* * *

thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. it really means a lot to me!

(next chapter is when this story is really going to kick off...we might just get a visit from a certain pink haired troublemaker and his flying blue accomplice!)

R&R


	4. friends, fees, and flames

so this one is a whooper, 3,000+ words, of somewhat plot. i am so psyched! over 1,500 viewers have even taken time to read this and that means a whole lot guys.

(Martha's happiness is pretty short lived, Lucy is embarrassed, and Natsu... _oh Natsu_...)

+read note at the bottom for something special.

* * *

Chapter 4

"friends, fees, and flames"

* * *

Despite the fact that the mere sight of the landlady is enough to give Makarov an anxiety attack, the two of them are actually friends.

 _Close_ friends, even.

Martha knew the now wizard saint when he was just a twenty-something s-class wizard with a bad attitude and an even worse dye job. And she'd been the beautiful and rightfully authoritative new landlady who had moved in next door to him. Understandably, after some harsh words and the exchange of unsolicited and highly personal observations, they had clashed. But they'd managed to get past all that―s _omehow_ ―and become…something. And that something had gradually developed into a friendship.

Not that it was all that surprising. They had actually been pretty similar back then.

Not the hair thing (Martha has always had an excellent head of hair. Hours of maintenance by her mother had ensured it when she was younger. And after she had left home, she had personally maintained it), the _bad attitude_ thing.

They had been twin terrors in their early twenties. Both for different reasons and through different means but each equally as terrifying as the other. She already had a natural inclination towards being a cold-hearted bitch which had only been worsened by a stupid broken heart and it had made her...less agreeable than usual. While Makarov really had no excuse. Except for the fact that it was apparently a rite of passage for the Dreyer men to act like dicks for most of their young adult lives. (It made sense when considering Laxus and Makarov's rotten attitudes but, surprisingly, Ivan had been nothing less than an angel as a teenager. She had really liked the boy. Eh. _Whatever_. He was probably just a really late bloomer.) The two of them had managed to cause their own brand of havoc around Magnolia for a while, but luckily life and age had managed to mellow both of their explosive tempers and dulled their tongues.

(Good thing too. Because she was fairly certain the loving residents of Magnolia had been planning a revolt.)

And all that was left behind were two people who were older than they would ever admit and fonder of each other than they let on.

But just because she sort of liked the old fart didn't mean she was delusional. He might have had all of his pseudo-children fooled by his wise old man act, but not her. She was more than aware that he was just as much of an idiot as every other wizard in his god forsaken guild.

And as such, she wasn't at all surprised that her conversation with Makarov had done nothing but prove to her that the old man was still the same old miserable gossip that he had been in his twenties.

And after finally getting him to admit that he did indeed know about this rumor that was floating around Magnolia― _'But I swear I didn't start it! I heard about it someone else who heard about it from somebody else, just like everybody else. Guild Master's Oath!" "We both know that there is no such thing!"_ ―and that he may have maybe, perhaps, shared this information with somebody who may or may not have been Mr Rye, he had been of no further use.

So with a particularly stern reprimanding and an even sterner _…request_ that his full rent be on her desk first thing tomorrow morning, she left Fairy Tail. With very little information, even less patience, and no solid leads.

And so she did what she always did when she was annoyed and frustrated.

* * *

"Heartfilla!" She called out, her right fist banging against the white door and her left clutching a clipboard. She is standing just outside Lucy Heartfillia's apartment and she is already starting to feel…brighter. Her steps are considerably lighter, her smile less forced, and her pockets are steadily getting heavier. She has already visited her other properties and knocked on several other doors in this building―Some more severely than others. Apartment 2B has received several knocks and the threat of eviction, but Rebeca still refused to open the door. She can hear the crappy pop music and the high pitched, airy giggles. She knows that the ditz is home―and honestly she is feeling downright _giddy_. Collecting rent always does that to her. And so this is just what she needs. Who the hell cares that she's a week early?"Heartfillia! I know you're hiding in there."

The sound of something crashing to the floor and a string of curses in a suspiciously male voice―she would have to ask about that later―can be heard through the door before the celestial wizard finally opens it, red-faced and dressed in…

Actually, she wasn't quite sure if clutching the knot of a loosely tied towel while wearing bunny shaped slippers counted as being _dressed_.

But considering the amount of compromising positions she has caught many of her other tenants in and the fact that Lucy―for all her pink lace and ponytails― _is_ a Fairy Tail wizard, she supposes it should count for _something_. Plus, this isn't even the first time she has seen Lucy in a state of undress. But that certainly doesn't mean she can't comment.

"Dear god, Lucy", she says, eyes scanning over milky skin and stopping at wide brown eyes, "where are your clothes this time, dearie?"

Lucy looks down at her body apparently unaware of her state of dress…or lack thereof and steps deeper into her apartment, clutching at the door for cover as she blushes. _Well_ , Martha thinks, _at the very least she is wearing that blush spectacularly well_. It is a pretty pinkish color that has Martha laughing. Because _honestly_. The door is really not hiding anything other than those ridiculous slippers and as funny as Lucy's embarrassment is, this whole situation is really kind of ridiculous. You would think that for all the skin the blonde displays both accidentally and purposefully―she has bared witness to Heartfillia losing numerous articles of clothing while fighting baddies in and around Magnolia's enough times to know that it is almost as much of a habit as the Ice wizard's stripping―she would be less bashful. Young people these days. _So self conscious. I_ f Martha still had a body like that, you'd have to pay her to wear anything that covered more skin than a boob tube and pair of shorts. Hell, she'd probably be wearing one now if wasn't freaking autumn and the temperature hadn't decided to take a nose dive today.

"Well…you see…I was just…" Lucy stutters, flailing her arms frantically as she searches for an explanation.

Martha smirks and raises an eyebrow. "You were just...what?"

"I was just…" Lucy starts, turning her head to look behind her. Martha's eyes follow her movements into her messy but otherwise normal looking living room. What is she looking for? "I was just taking a shower."

"But you're completely dry." Martha deadpans.

Lucy swallows.

"Dry? Oh! Would you look at that?!" Lucy's words are quick and suspiciously cheery as she stares down at her right arm. But the faint look of panic painting Lucy's features lets her know that there is clearly something that Lucy is trying so desperately to hide. How _Interesting_ …"I…um…took it a while ago?"

"And you've just been lounging around in your towel this whole time." She said. Slowly, because judging by how tightly she is holding on to the door and how jittery she is, it seems that any wrong move could result in the door slamming in her face. Which would seriously suck. Because then she would have to kill the young wizard. And that would seriously ruin her chances of collecting Lucy's rent. Not to mention, all that blood shed would undoubtedly soil her newly acquired good mood and kill her chance of finding out just who is in the apartment with the busty blonde and why she is so jumpy. "Damn near naked. By yourself?"

Lucy's eyes widened and Martha notes the sudden shifting of her feet.

"Yes?" Martha quirked an eyebrow at that. Lucy's grip tightened and her smile widened." Yes! I mean, yeah. I'm alone. On my own. Just me and Plue, just like always."

On any normal occasion that would have been the end of the conversation.

If the young wizard didn't want to tell her who was in her apartment and why she was lounging around damn near naked, then so be it. It's not really any of her business. And unlike the rest of Magnolia if it had nothing to do with her or her money, she didn't see the need to pry. But for some reason that annoying voice in her head decided to speak up.

(She was starting to think this annoying voice was the penance for all those years she had spent judging people. Maybe she'd finally pissed off the wrong person and they'd cursed her with this stupid ass second voice in her head. Second, because she was pretty sure that it wasn't her conscience. She'd spent enough time ignoring that particular voice to know what it sounded like. And it definitely did not sound like this. Nope. This one sounded like annoying smart-ass with a bad sense of humor, spoke a hell of a lot louder than her conscience ever had, and never had anything even _remotely_ useful to say. In fact, all it did was stir up unpleasant feelings and hurl insults. Not to mention it also sounded suspiciously like a mix between her mother and herself. And that pissed her off to no end.

Honestly, she had been doing so much better when she only had _one_ voice to ignore.)

It kept whispering in her head: _Don't you wanna know what she's hiding? Huh? Oh. I guess you really don't care about your business than. Was that wimp really right about you? I mean, how much_ can _you know when you'd rather act all high and mighty?_

But the most Martha was willing to give it was a twinge in her left brow as she decided to, once again, ignore the hag's voice.

She wasn't about to let some voice tell her what to do. Not when she had rent to collect.

And so Martha opened her mouth to say as much, when a crash rang through the doorway followed by a high pitched voice shouting "Luuuuucccyyyy!" Martha's brows furrowed in confusion as Lucy's shoulders slumped and her hold on the door slackened, she looked like a child who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. But that wasn't Martha's immediate concern. Nope. Martha's immediate concern was the sound of flapping winds and the sudden burst of flames that flew from somewhere in the living room across to the open plan kitchen, hitting the white walls and covering them in a coat of soot. _Her_ white walls.

"Lucy Heartfillia," she asked, her voice was hard and her eyes narrow, "what the hell is going on here?"

"I swear I can explain! And…and…" Her eyes turned to the mess that was visible through the opening of the door. Wincing at dishes that had been pushed to the floor by the blast of fire and the blackened walls. She swallowed, thickly."…I can fix it?"

Martha's eye twitched.

 _(Kill her,_ the hag said. _It's just us here. No one has to know. Use the clipboard.)_

"You can explain?" She repeated, slowly. "Then you better start."

"It's not my fault! Really! It's just… I just….Well..." She sounded panicky now. Martha quickly, and perhaps harshly, shushed her.

"You better find your voice, Lucy," she said," unless you want me to reach in your throat and find it for you."

Lucy stopped.

"No, ma'am." Lucy took a deep breathe. "No. I-I can find it myself."

"That's good." Martha said. She could hear flapping in the distant and the crash of things hitting the floor. The hag is _screaming_. "Now tell me. Are you harboring some kind of _dragon_ in there?"

Lucy opened her mouth to speak, when the sound of flapping suddenly got louder and quicker. Lucy clamped her mouth and ran an anxious hand over her face before letting out a sound that was either a painful groan or the early signs of a cry. Martha was about to comment on it, when a blur of blue and white dashed through the air, landing on Lucy's bare shoulder. The…thing shifted on the thin perch, forcing one of Lucy's hands to release the door and clutch the knot of her towel for security again as her frown deepened. The creature mewled softly as it nuzzled its head against Lucy's neck, whisks of blonde hair falling against blue fur like rays of light. Lucy seemed exhausted and Martha? Martha was more confused than she had ever been before. What was that thing? She was pretty sure she'd caught a glimpse at something similar yesterday, when she'd gone to interrogate Makarov at the guild, but she hadn't been able to get a good look at it in all the ruckus that had followed. It had luminescent wings on its back and its fur was bright blue and it kind of looked like… _was that ca_ t?! It was rumbling slightly, its soft cries now sounding more like muffled complaints and Lucy had raised a hand to pat the things fur, rather roughly, while muttering angrily under her breath.

"But Luuuucy!" Whatever the wizard had been muttering had apparently only depressed the kitten further, as its big eyes widened and became misty. The tiny blue cat pressed itself against the side of the wizard's head, its tail curling resting in her golden hair like a blue furry crown. The action caused Lucy to stumble slightly, forcing the door from her hands and opening it wider, revealing more charred walls. Martha wanted to _scream_. "Lucy! It's Natsu! He's trying to flambé me!"

( _It wouldn't be too suspicious if both the key wizard_ and _the talking cat happened to bite the dust at the same time, would it?_ The hag wondered. _I'm sure we could sell it._ )

Martha took a deep breath and turned away from the talking blue cat to look Lucy directly in the eyes.

"Lucy…" She started. The wizard shrunk away. "Who is this?"

Lucy let out a defeated sigh.

"This is Happy." The celestial wizard sighed, clearly defeated. "He's a member of my guild."

She knew it. She had known that letting a Fairy Tail member live in her building was a bad idea. But she'd been taken aback by big brown eyes and a tragic backstory. And now she was being punished. Again. Maybe she was getting soft in her old age.

"Makarov is recruiting cats now?" She asks. Why was she not surprised? "Are times really _that_ rough?"

"Hey!" The little ball of fluff sounded offended, his tiny blue cheeks puffed out and he lifted his head from its perch on Lucy's neck. "I'll have you know I am an _exceed_. And…"

Martha locked eyes with the cat and glared. Her good mood was well and truly gone. And the last thing she needed was a flying cat with an attitude to give her any lip. Not now.

Happy clamped up and buried his face deeper into Lucy's hair. The blonde chuckled softly and patted his trembling head.

"Now, Lucy." Martha turned back to the young wizard. "Explain to me why you have a pet in your apartment?"

Lucy gulped. "Happy was actually just visiting, he's not staying I promise―"

A sudden voice interrupted what was sure to be another poorly constructed excuse on Lucy's part.

"Oi, Happy! Where are ya little buddy?" The voice sounded rough, as if its owner had just awoken from a long slumber. Or participated in some kind of strenuous activity. Like covering every wall in an average sized, one bedroom apartment in soot. But it was also _definitely_ coming from within the confines of Lucy's apartment. Martha shot an accusatory glare at the celestial wizard. She didn't even care that Lucy seemed to have grown even paler than usual. Weird. "Hey, Lucy? Lucy! Happy! Where are you guys?"

Lucy pulled the door tighter against her body.

"So, ma'am!" She said, hurriedly. The sound of the rough voice calling her name over and over could be heard in the distance. Her nails were now digging into the side of the door. "What is it that you wanted before? You know. When you knocked?"

Martha crossed her arms.

"All I want now is to find out what the hell is going on here!"

Lucy swallowed, again. "Well, you see…"

It was at that exact moment that everything stopped making sense.

A hand, tanned and rough, landed on top of Lucy's causing the blonde to let out a shrill yelp and Martha to furrow her brow. Any questions that the landlady had, though, were quickly answered when the lone hand was joined by its owner. He stepped out from behind the celestial wizard with a smirk playing mischievously on his lips and what looked like an aerosol can in his left hand. Based on the current state of the walls in Lucy's apartment, she would hazard a guess that this guy was definitely to blame. _But_ , the hag observed, _it would seem that Lucy hadn't been lounging around half-naked all by herself after all_. Her friend, if that was all he was, also happened to be shirtless. His body was muscular and clearly well trained. And while her eyes traced the scar on his hip bone, Martha finally understood the light blush that had color Lucy's cheeks earlier on. The young man was a full head taller than the blonde wizard and used this height difference to plop his right hand right on the very top of her pretty blond head, ruffling her already unruly hair with is calloused hands. Lucy groaned and the sound only made his smile widened, revealing sharp, white teeth. If the scars, strangely sharpened teeth and guild mark hadn't been a dead giveaway, the pink hair most certainly was.

Natsu Dragneel.

Martha was about to comment, when suddenly he raised his hand off Lucy's head and gently stroked her cheek. _Oh_. The wizard smiled sweetly down at Lucy, whose blush had returned full force under both the gaze of Natsu and her landlady, before moving a stray strand of hair from against her cheek to tuck it behind her ear. She watched as Lucy's eyes flutter and the blonde, ever so slightly, leaned into his touch until her shoulder bumped into his chest. The sensation of his warm skin against hers causing the blonde to recoil slightly, as he chuckled. Martha watched the exchange carefully, surprised that the same guy who destroyed the town weekly could be so…gentle. It was mesmerizing. His eyes were bright and his smile surprisingly gentle as he exclaimed, _"There! That's better."_ before reaching across to pet the blue cat's fur.

But that wasn't what kept Martha up that night. What had her deep in thought, and slightly peeved, wasn't the cat suddenly spreading his wings and flying from Lucy's shoulder, past Martha's head, and down the hallway yelling "Stay away from me, Natsu!". It wasn't the force causing Lucy's towel to slip down, revealing even more skin, and causing the blonde to let out a loud screech. It wasn't the look of mischief that bubbled in Dragneel's eyes, which she knew would only spell trouble, as he watched his blue friend race towards the exit.

Nope. What had Martha so wholly confused and enlightened all at the same time, was the moment when Natsu Dragneel said a hasty farewell to his busty blonde friend and raced after the flying cat with his right hand...

With his right hand completely enveloped by a bright red, roaring flame.

* * *

 _"_ _I promise I'll have the place fixed in no time, ma'am! You have nothing to worry about. I'll take care of everything!"_

 _Silence._

 _"_ _And…I won't have Happy on any of the furniture or the carpets. Promise!"_

 _Silence._

 _"_ _And I'm really sorry, you know, about Natsu. I'll talk to him."_

 _More Silence._

 _"_ _You're gonna add all this to my rent, aren't you?"_

 _"_ _You bet. I'll be back to collect later."_

 _"_ _Where are you going, ma'am?"_

 _"_ _To take a nap. And maybe have a bottle of wine."_

* * *

i actually wrote the first meeting between Makarov and Martha, would you all like to read it?

let me know & thanks for reading.

R&R


	5. first interlude, impressions

enjoy

* * *

Interlude

'Impressions'

* * *

Martha believes that people are inherently selfish.

Wearers of masks. Masters of façade. _Fakes_.

And as such, people will usually try and put their best foot forward when meeting anyone new. It was only natural. To behave in the way that they believed they had to. To walk in the shoes of whoever society dictated they be. And so they did just that. They projected the image of not who they _are_ , but who they wish to be onto each and every unwitting soul that they happened to meet.

Confident steps. Intelligent and inspiring word. A bright smile. Clear, trustworthy eyes.

These are all things that are so easily faked.

She knows. She has seen it.

Seen how the honest, beautiful smiles would only get brighter and faker with age. How people's sure, sturdy steps would never last for long, how they would always falter, if only for a moment, before their stride was once again reestablished. How ones thoughts, the bright and honest truths of the soul, would pop up in idle conversations before being smothered with dismissive words in favor of the ease that came with the monolith.

Time and time again she saw it happen.

She lost all her friends before she was even sixteen. All because of their inability to see the world, and their place in it, as it really was. She bared witness to the cracks appearing and widening in their faces and as much as she wanted to ignore it, pretend nothing had changed, she couldn't delude herself.

Because while they were hiding behind whatever they perceived as protection―money, titles, fear, _magic_ ―her eyes had never been so clear.

Because the face behind the mask―the heart, the spirit, the _soul_ …or whatever you call it―was illusive. It was sneaky and all it really cared about was self-preservation. But it wasn't omnipresent. She caught glimpses of the children she had played with, laughed with, and cried with in the eyes of these very important roles they had chosen to play. But it was of no comfort. Because she had been too young, too naïve, too inexperienced to stop it all from happening. To stop her friends, who she had known so well, from slowly putting on their own masks and hiding from a world that was a lot harsher than it seemed, just like their parents before them. She had never even seen it coming. Couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when their stories started diverging so drastically.

And so while she may pride herself in being able to see behind the mask with the same ease as looking into a mirror, she is painfully aware that more often than not it is impossible to really know a person after one meeting.

* * *

Makarov Dreyer believes in _people_.

He believes that humans are complex creatures that, to some degree, can never fully understand each other.

He believes that they are the product of everything around them. Their environment. Their experiences. Their culture. Their magic. That all of this interweaves and connects to create individuals who are so wonderfully different.

Creating people who have lived lives so drastically different from that of his own.

Lives filled with friends, families and enemies that he will never meet. Languages that he will never speak. Things that he will never do.

People who he will never understand.

Makarov _revels_ in this sonder. You can see it playing in his eyes every morning when he looks at the diversity filling his guild. He understands that even though these young wizards who have gathered under this guild, who have sworn their lives to Fairy Tail, are his family in the blood of the battlefield, the spirit of adventure, and the strength of their shared faith: they are, first and foremost, individuals who are destined to live their own lives and make their own decisions. He understands even though they may share the same future, they do not share the same past. That although he may see them every day, there is still so much to learn about each one of his rowdy children.

And so Makarov is not foolish enough to put much stock in first impressions.

* * *

The idea of judging someone after only one encounter―one moment, one conversation, one look―was in and of itself a flawed concept. But if you were to ask Makarov and Martha about their first encounter, they would say that it was pivotal.

* * *

The day that Martha met Makarov Dreyer just so happened to also be the worst day of her life. Or really the end of the worst weekend of her life―but really, it was the worst day of all three.

Not on account of the actual meeting itself. No. Compared to the rest of her weekend, that had been virtually uneventful.

It actually had nothing to do with little whiny ass wizard at all. It was...none of his business. And if he had had that same mentality that day, things wouldn't have happened the way they did. They may never have even spoken that day. He may have just walked past her straight into his apartment with no problem. She may have just sat there alone for a couple more hours before she found the strength to finally move.

They probably could have saved each other a whole lot of stress.

* * *

Prior to his arrive, she had just finished tossing an old duffle bag filled with old clothes and trinkets and photos of _him_ out onto the dusty street of her newly purchased apartment building before turning on her heel to stalk back to her new apartment and get more stuff.

She had been clutching the black candlestick holder between freshly polished fingers, preparing to hurl the ugly, bent thing out onto the concrete and watch with a twisted sense of glee as it smashed into a trillion pieces. The sad, pathetic part of her hoped that the act would put an end to her seemingly endless tears. They had been stinging her eyes and ruining her makeup since she had read the stupid note― _I love you, Martha. I love you and I know you don't want to hear it but I do. And that is why I have to do this. I can't be selfish. Not with you. I'm so sorry.―_ attached to this stupid thing. Or maybe it had started when the sun went down on that first night and she realized that he really wasn't coming back...

 _God. Whatever_.

Either way it had to go.

It was poorly made and tacky and she didn't even want the damn thing. And where the hell was she even supposed to _put it_? It didn't go with any of the furniture they had picked out together and she definitely would have told him that, and so much more, if he had just been _here_.

(And, honestly? The sight of the thing made her feel so _sad_. So sad and just… _bleh.)_

The wind had just hit her face and the sun was already starting to warm her skin―why was it always so damn _sunny_ in this _goddamn_ town―when she saw the little red car parked to the side of the building.

Despite the sensible part of her brain telling her that it would change nothing―that she had cried too many tears and spent one too many nights alone for it to ever change anything―her eyes widened and she frantically looked for his bright red hair in the crowded streets of Magnolia.

She ran down the stone steps several at a time, before breaking into a sprint down the street with desperate eyes and his name on her lips, pushing people out of her way. She is still not sure how long she was running for, all she remembers is the flicker of red she had seen in her peripheral vision when she reached Strawberry Street and the joy that burst in her chest.

Ignoring the cautionary shouts of the men in the riverboats as she ran alongside the riverbank, she chased after the fleeting figure. His name is escaping in sporadic gasps from her lips, and her eyes are burning but she keeps running and running _and_ _running_. Then suddenly, the figure had turned into a corner which she almost missed. She came to a sudden stop, scuffing her black shoes on the rough ground, catching her breath and turning to walk into the alley way. She hears the familiar pop of magic and yells his name. It becomes more of a screech, accompanied by body wrecking sobs that have her heart beating erratically against her ribcage, as she discovers the empty alley filled only with the multi-colored remnants of his magic.

By the time that she makes it back to her apartment building the morning sun is shining higher in the sky, the soles of her shoes are worn out and her heart is well and truly broken.

She manages to reach the top the steps before her knees finally give out, and she finds very little comfort in this little victory.

She knelt at the very top of the stone steps, her hand reaching out to clutch clumsily at the base of the candlestick holder that she had left on the steps. She runs her thumb over the rough surface as her breathing quickens and she finally weeps openly. Fat, pear-shaped droplets, tinted grey by her mascara, stream down her face as thick sniffles escape occasionally. She is sure it is a sad sight. And god, it was so pathetic and embarrassing and she wasn't sure how long she would have stayed like that if she hadn't hear the sound of someone awkwardly clearing their throat.

She didn't look up. She was sure that her eyes were bloodshot and her makeup completely ruined. She was a mess and she would sooner roll over and die than let someone catch her in that state. Not again.

Hopefully, he would move on and just leave her al―

"So," his voice was ruff and dripping with sarcasm, "what's wrong with you today, princess?"

Great. She had thought that her day couldn't get any worse, but the universe sends her a random with a bad attitude.

She cleared her throat, hoping her voice wouldn't betray her.

"I'm just fine." She said, through gritted teeth. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"That was pretty clear," he remarked, clearly amused, "Not bad at all. Y'ah know? For a girl who was crying her eyes out a second ago."

(To this day, Makarov swears he heard the twenty year old let out what sounded like an inhumane growl. He hears it sometimes, when he is home alone and his house is especially dark. It is terrifying.

But twenty-two year old Makarov was much braver than he is now. Or maybe stupider.)

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Don't act dumb. I've been standing over there for the last five minutes. I saw you crying."

(Stupid. Definitely stupid.)

Her head had snapped up and her blue eyes, dark with emotion and smudged mascara, had stared right at him. He is of average height with the brightest blonde hair that she has ever seen―not that it is very surprising since Magnolia, _he_ had told her, is filled with all sorts of strange people― and wearing a scowl that looks mismatched with his bright features. She can see the outline of an emblem under the thin material of his dirty wife beater. A wizard, is he? He cannot be much older than she is.

She barely notes him taking a shaky step back―she has that effect on people―because she is livid. How dare he mock her? Today of all days. So she focuses on nothing but onyx because if she looks away from his eyes she is sure all she will see is red.

"Is that right?" She said, her grip on the candlestick tightened as he swallowed thickly. "You've been standing there for over five minutes watching me cry, thinking up ways to comfort me and you decided that being a dick was the best way to go?"

His scowl deepens. "Oh. Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. I wasn't coming over here t―"

"To comfort me? No, I didn't think so." She interrupts. Her voice is sharp and hard. "Maybe I was giving you too much credit. That's not the kind of guy you are."

"Oh yeah?" He crossed his arms across his chest and looks at her curiously. "And just what kind of guy do you think I am?"

"You're the type of idiot who thinks that he's fooling people with this whole tough guy act." She spat." You're the type of guy who doesn't understand the basic concept of emotion. Who doesn't know how to handle situations like this so he acts all passive, like he doesn't care." his eyes widened. "You are such a little kid. Nothing but a child. Why don't you go cry to mommy and leave me alone."

Her last comments are childish. She knows it. But with the weight is still sitting on her heart, it is the best she can come up with. And so she is surprised when his face tightens and the crackle of magic rings in the air.

"Shut up." He retorted. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about."

 _To easy._

"Showing some emotion, are we? I must have hit a nerve. "She said, the smirk across her face is dripping in malice." What was it? Was it the emotionless thing? Calling you a kid? Or was it the mom thing?"

"I said shut up!"

"Winner." She deadpans." You got Mommy issues?" His glare intensifies. She rolls her eyes. "Don't we all? It's not an excuse to act like a jerk."

Makarov's eye twitched. "No excuse to act like a bitch."

"Ah." She exclaims. "I don't think children should swear like that. Didn't your mommy teach you that?"

He clenches his fists and glares right back at her with enough force to kill.

"I don't know why you're crying," he spat, words dripping with venom," but I'm sure it's your fault."

She stiffens.

He smirks, probably pleased that his words have had the desired effect, and she watches him pivot on his right foot. He is turning towards the door behind her but before she can stop herself…

"You're right."

"What?" He said. His hand is outstretched, reaching for the shiny brass door handle.

A tear manages to make it down to her cheek before she can wipe it and she pretends she doesn't see him notice it.

"You are right. _I am a bitch_ and I probably deserve all this." She chuckles, a sound that is dark and sad and _oh so lonely_." But _I'm_ right too."

She hears the doorknob twist and jingle. He has most likely walked inside the building and away from the crazy girl sitting at the entrance of his building. It is fine. It is great, even. This is what she needs. To be left alone with her thoughts and the warm summer breeze. This has always been what she needs. She is all she has ever needed.

"Right about what?"

She shifts her body to look back at him. He is leaning against the closed door, his key dangling in his hand. He looks at her questioningly and she is genuinely confused.

"Well?" He asks, impatiently. He scoffs." You seem to like acting like you know me. What makes you think you know anything about me?"

He walks over, nonchalantly with his hands buried in the pockets of his cargo pants, and leans against the banister rail to her left.

"I just have a gift for reading people." She replied. "Always have."

"Is that so? You're not even a wizard, are you?"

She looks down.

"But you think you can 'read' people?" He questions. His tone is mocking and it clear that he does not believe her. The sound of it makes her angry. "Prove it. What have you learnt about me in the last five minutes that I haven't figured out in twenty-two years, huh?"

"I don't have to prove anything to _you_." She said, defiantly. "I'm not asking you to believe me."

For a moment his face falls and he seems surprised at her answer. But the moment is short lived as he turns his face towards the busy road and leans further against the metal railing.

"Whatever." He said. "I don't really care."

"You're so damn emotional."

"Sure." He scoffs. "This coming from the girl with tears streaming down her face?"

"Do you think that just because you keep up this cold façade that you have control over your emotions?"

He snaps his eyes back towards her and glares. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well you don't." She continues. "Controlling your emotions means you allow yourself to feel them as they come. You acknowledge every single one of them and then you manipulate them to your will. You don't let your emotions manipulate you. You feel your emotions―your happiness, your sadness, your pain―with every ounce of yourself and then you choose how you'll react."

He says nothing, not that she really expects him to. She is speaking more for her own benefit than his, anyway.

She looks back down at the candlestick holder and bangs it gently against the stone. Once. Twice. "I may be a cold-hearted bitch but I'm that way because I understand my emotions. When I am sad, I let myself be sad. When I was angry, I punched walls. And when I'm heartbroken, I cry. "

She pauses, her breathing is shallow and rough and it kind of hurts her throat. But she hears him shuffle his feet against the concrete and continues. "You don't always get to choose how you feel in this world, but you always get to choose how you react. Sometimes I choose to cry, other times I don't. It doesn't mean that my feelings at that time are weaker or less important―sometimes they hurt like hell―it just means I'm making a different decision." She looks up at his face and he is already staring at her. His brow is furrowed and he is biting his bottom lip. She cannot tell if it is because he is angry or contemplative. She doesn't really care too much either way. "And yeah, I'm alone. And maybe that _is_ all my fault. But what I have left is a clear mind. I'm not hiding anything. I'm not wearing any kind of mask. I'm not being anything less or more than myself." Blue eyes burn into onyx. "If you keep pushing back your true nature your mind will never be clear. You'll always be fighting yourself. You'll always be hiding. The people you care about―the important people, the people you _love_ ―they'll begin clinging to this persona you put on. They may love you, but they'll never really see you. They'll forget who you really are. And then so will you."

She sighed.

"So I'm right. You don't understand anything about emotion. You _are_ a child."

He stands there in silence and she watches him carefully. His eyes have fluttered shut and his face is oddly relaxed for some who has listened to the confusing and emotional rant she just spewed out. He raises a shaky hand and drags it along his face before cupping his chin and exhaling deeply. He opens his eyes and wipes them with the back of his hand. She pretends not to notice and watches him stuff the hand back into his pocket and shiver. Martha pulls her cardigan closer to her as the breeze picks up and cold air moves in.

(It's probably from the north. She allows her mind to wander to the grey coat she has thrown on the concrete and begins to wonder whether the journey will be a cold one for him. She hopes it isn't. She hopes he stays just as warm as he's always been.)

"You don't know me."

She turns to him. His voice had jumped on the last part of his sentence and the emotion in it stirs something in her. She looks him in the eyes and lets a wet, content smile grace her face.

"I guess you are right. Please don't take it personally, those are just my observations." She stated, pulling her knees to her chest with her arms and resting her head against them. "And honestly they have very little to do with you. I'm just talking for the sake of it." She lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. "And like you said. I don't really know you."

She sighs.

Her voice is horse now and she is kind of tired of talking, so it is no louder than a whisper when she says, _"I don't really know anyone, I guess."_

She frowns at the ground as the sound of his laughter fills the air. _What an ass._

She feels his bare arm brush against her clothed one before she even acknowledges his movement and she is about to move over when he begins to talk.

"I'm Makarov Dreyer." He said.

A moment passes before she feels obligated to answer.

"My name is Martha." She said, bringing her knees closer to her body.

"Martha?" He raised a brow at that. "Just Martha?"

"Just Martha." She sighs. The wind picks up and the clothes scattered across the pavement flutter. "At least to you."

* * *

You can imagine the pure unadulterated horror on young Makarov's face when the weird girl who had kept him up all night thinking―with her philosophic words and unsolicited observations―knocked on his door the very next day to introduce herself as his new landlady.

And then asked him for the back pay on four months' rent. _With interest._

* * *

i was really nervous about posting this one...tell me what you think.

but take this as a thanks for all your support on my very first story...it is all very encouraging.

R&R


	6. epiphany, the beginning of the end

so...i know, i know. what a bitch.

(dragons are a thing. and martha does not have time for them or their slayers.)

* * *

Chapter 5

epiphany, the beginning of the end

* * *

When the bell had sounded early that morning Martha had been confused.

Confused and kind of annoyed because the sign hanging outside the door clearly states that the agency opens at nine. Not nine thirty. Not eight o'clock. Not eight thirty-five. Not ten to eight. Not freaking seven thirty. _Nine o'clock_.

 _Seriously_. People kept showing up at her office well before opening time or well after as if she didn't pay good money to have her business hours etched into that glass door. She did not understand why the hell this kept happening.

Honestly she wouldn't have really minded if any of her surprise visitors had been even slightly interested in viewing any houses or apartments. But nope. No one with any interest, or any money, had visited her outside of business hours. Those people had sense and checked that she was open before entering. The people who seemed to enjoy bothering Martha at the most inopportune times had no sense. And the Fairy Tail guild mark somewhere on their person.

All she'd had for the last two weeks were headache after headache as Magnolia's least wanted started treating her office like their newest hang out.

She'd spent the entirety of Monday morning and afternoon trying to get Goldmine and his god awful excuse for flirting to leave her the hell alone. And it had escalated to the point where she was prepared to kill him if it meant that she was finally going to get some peace, before Yajima had finally intervened and dragged the bumbling idiot out the door. Tuesday morning had been dedicated to taking down the glittering decoration that Bob had somehow managed to cover her waiting area in, and chasing the winged fiend around with an oversized fly swatter. Wednesday had seen Makarov Dreyer―her _favourite_ scoundrel―rock up at her front door like the little _elf_ owned the place and start spouting excuses about his lack of rent payment. She'd swiftly kicked him out with the pointed end of her heel and an eviction notice stapled to the back of his ugly red shirt (Sure. It had been a childish move. But it was, mostly, an empty threat. And seeing Makarov's face pale and receiving a stack of bills the next day had been _sooo_ worth it). Needless to say her opinion of Fairy Tail was only getting worse. And it was only after careful consideration that she had decided that torching the guild hall wasn't going to solve anything. Very careful consideration. Because quite frankly she's had enough of them.

So that summer morning at quarter to nine twenty eight year old Martha, bubbling with irritation, stood up, opened the door, and nearly slapped Porlyusica across the face.

It was only the sight of the female mages long pink hair and the permanent look of contempt in her eyes that saved the wizard from the full force of Martha's right palm. It's a good thing too. She quite liked Porlyusica―had even had tea with the wizard on the odd occasions when they had both managed to shake the other members of Porlyusica's guild―and would have been disappointed if their friendship came to an end because of a measly slap. Plus, she was fairly certain that the moody pink-haired girl could hold her own in a brawl (if watching her deal with Goldmine and Makarov had taught her anything it was that Porlyusica had a killer left hook) and Marth couldn't very well sell apartments with a black eye, now could she?

Martha stepped out.

"What are you doing here? We don't open up until―"

"Nine o'clock." She interrupted. Her voice was just as emotionless and flat as ever but Martha could tell by the wizards interlocked hands, white at the knuckles and reddish at the tips, that her doorstep was also the last place the wizard wanted to be right now. "I need you to come with me."

Martha quirked an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

"Come with you? Where exactly?"

She could swear that Porlyusica had muttered something about "stubborn humans" under her breath but it was so early that she had chosen to ignore it.

"It's not safe for you to be here right now." The mage started. "The rest of the town has already been evacuated. Makarov went to your house to get you but you weren't there so he asked me to come here." Her frown deepened." We don't have much time, Martha. So I need you to come with me befo―"

Porlyusica shut her mouth and paled suddenly. It made Martha very nervous.

"What the hell is going on?" She asked, panic quickly setting in at Porlyusica's uncharacteristic silence. "What is wrong?"

The medicinal wizard remained silent and Martha was about to ask her again (and perhaps shake her once or twice for good measure) when she suddenly felt it.

The shift in the air as the wind suddenly picked up and her dress billowed around her. She dropped her arms to grip at the ends of her dress as the wind got stronger and stronger. Scraps of litter in the street suddenly filled the air, swirling as if trapped in a cyclone, and the rustling of papers in her office could be heard as they all fell to the floor. She looked up at Porlyusica's face. Her long pink hair was windswept, with strands flying free in the wind and some hitting her face but she did not seem to notice. Her eyes were wide and her mouth parted slightly as she focused on something beyond Martha. Martha turned to look behind her, but saw nothing. As she turned back a sudden rush of magic filled the air, twirling along with the wind, so strongly that it felt as though it had punched her in the gut. The weight of it settled in her stomach and the taste of iron coated her tongue. Porlyusica didn't move.

The whoosh of wind roared and Martha reached for Porlyusica's shoulder as the sound of glass breaking sounded all around them. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?"

The pink haired wizard suddenly meet her eyes. She must have seen something there because the frozen look of shock was suddenly gone and fierce determination coloured her eyes.

"Do not look up." She said.

She grabbed Martha's arm, pivoted on her right foot, and ran.

Martha let out a surprised yelp―that she would later fervently deny had come from her―as she was pulled along with the wizard.

They ran from the town centre to the housing district as Porlyusica raced towards some finish line that Martha could not see. Her hair whipped behind her as she ran, but her eyes remained glued to sight of Porlyusica's feet hitting the pavement. Why couldn't she look up? Where were they going? She almost asked but the sound of flapping was now so loud that she doubted the wizard would have heard her anyway. She focused instead on the pain in her left leg and the tear in her stockings. She was confused and tired and sweating and _what the hell was happening_? Her hand was cold were she and Porlyusica were joined and she could feel the other girls hand shake. The girl who was always so calm and sure and poised was shaking and tripping over every forth step and it _scared_ her.

The flapping got louder and louder, like the sound of it was echoing from behind Martha's temple and she couldn't take it anymore. She finally looked up.

Her legs shook and her mouth dropped as Porlyusica's hand slipped from hers. The pink-haired mage looked back at her and screeched her name over the fierce winds several times, but Martha couldn't hear her. Her eyes were locked above her and one lone word escaped her parted lips.

" _Dragon_."

* * *

Martha woke with a start, her breathing shallow and her sheets discarded around her. She was in her living room, the light from the lacrima vision illuminated the room and her shirt was sticky from the melted ice cream carton that she had balanced on her stomach before she fell asleep. Ew. The chocolate stain stuck to her skin as she pushed herself up, back resting against the armrest. Her bones creaked at the sudden movement and she shook her head hoping that would clear the grogginess clouding her eyes. Well, damn. Had she really fallen asleep on the sofa?

She grabbed the remote and pressed the large red button, watching as the time came up on her screen. 4:39 am. Damn. She felt like she had just slept half her life away and her body was heavy with the feeling of slumber. Had it really only been about three hours? She recalled falling asleep to the sound of gunshots and the beating of horse hoofs from some old western that had been playing in the background sometime around one o'clock, but she'd really been hoping to at least make it through the night.

 _You are truly pathetic,_ the second said in a voice that was dripping in disgust, _you know that, right_?

As much as she wanted to ignore the hag―it felt as if her second conscience had picked up a megaphone and a shotgun and had them both pointed against her forehead ever since she had left Heartfilia's apartment, it was giving her a headache―this really was starting to get _ridiculous_.

Her head was pounding like a hoard of rhinos in heat, she felt bloated and she'd had, at the most, four hours of sleep with no further slumber in sight. And to top it all off she was in a truly _abysmal_ mood. She had decided to take a nap when it became clear that her inner voice wasn't going to give her any peace of mind, let alone leave her to actually think up a constructive solution to this ridiculous situation, any time soon. So she had buried herself deep into her blankets and closed her eyes hoping to escape all thoughts of flamed perverts or blonde tenants. But that had been a complete failure. She had twisted and turned in her bed for several hours before reaching into the depths of her freezer for a tub of chocolate ice cream, grabbed a fleece blanket from her closet, and planted herself firmly on her sofa. Finding something decent on LV had been a disappointment too―you would think that with the hundreds of channels available something would catch her fancy but for some reason hours of reality LV didn't really speak to her and she wasn't in the mood to lose any brain cells. And when boredom had finally turned to fatigue and she'd passed out, her dreams had been plagued by visions of blond and pink haired fire breathing children with dragon wings running rampage through her apartment building chasing out all of her tenants, all while Lucy and Natsu had cooed sweetly at the little monsters and the fiery hell they left in their wake. And then that random memory, one that she hadn't thought about in years, had decided to resurface and knock her well and truly into consciousness.

It was honestly draining her.

Martha sighed. But it wasn't like she had anything better to do at the moment.

 _You're kidding me, right? Oh. You are not? Surely you have better things to do right now than sit on that ugly, old couch and stuff your face. Things that involve Magnolia's resident pink haired pyro and his busty blonde friend? You know? Important things like that._

She ignored the voice for the millionth time that day because as much as she may speculate and theorize, it wasn't like she had any concrete evidence. All she knew for certain was that Lucy Heartfilia was close friends― _very close friends_ , the hag snickered, _very very close_ ―with Natsu Dragneel. Natsu Dragneel happened to be a dragonslayer. Not just any kind of dragonslayer either. A _fire_ dragonslayer. A fire dragonslayer who was also a member of the Fairy Tail guild. And this worried Martha exponentially.

 _Really?_ The hag asked _. The whole destructive pyromaniac thing. That isn't a concern of yours? Okay. How about the potential pervert thing?_

 _Huh?_ The hag sniggered, like a bratty little kid _. Does that worry you?_

Because Natsu Dragneel―just like Erza Scarlett, Gray Fullbuster, Lucy Heartfilla, and…actually…most of the wizards in that damn guild―had a little bit of a reputation in Magnolia. While the people of Magnolia loved the guild and would always support them, they were the very first to admit that the Fairy Tail guild could be rather wacky and that had effected how Magnolia ran as a town. It wasn't just the special defence system that they had in place for whenever Guildarts was home―which she honestly thought was ridiculous, someone should just tell the big lug to watch where he's going―the presence of all the guild members has affected the town to some extent. The streets have been widened to accommodate Erza Scarlett's love of oversized luggage. There are specially designated bins scattered throughout Magnolia where citizens can place any pieces of clothing that Gray happens to lose and forget about (He's really grateful too. The amount of money he was spending on clothes was starting to get ridiculous.). Not to mention the children of Magnolia have become much more comfortable in their skin and their sexuality since the mayor has recognized Gray's…ahem…'body positive' lifestyle. There is a drink called the 'Alberono Special' in almost every restaurant and tavern in the town, which is really just a barrel of beer. But all that is really besides the point―the point is that everyone in Fairy Tail has had an effect on the lives of the people of Magnolia.

And as for Natsu Dragneel?

It would be fair to say that the citizens of Magnolia have a rather special relationship with the pink-haired dragonslayer.

Natsu was, through and through, a true Magnolia citizen. No matter where his jobs took him or how many people started recognizing 'The Salamander' as one of Fiore's greatest young wizards, he always returned to his little cottage and his little town. People speculated that it was because he just didn't understand how 'famous' he was and how rich he could be if he left Magnolia and went to a bigger town or even a city like Crocus. Martha thought he was just stupid. Stupid and sentimental. Because, as far as she knows, from clandestine chats with an intoxicated Makarov, Magnolia is the only place that he has ever called home. He was raised by a dragon (a fire dragon called Igneel or Ignail or Ignial… _whatever._ As much as he brags about his alcohol tolerance, Makarov is a horrible light wait and real alcohol, like the vodka she keeps in her pantry, turns him into mess. Unlike that watered down beer he drinks at his guild hall. ). And as far as she knows a dragon would be too big to fit into any real house, and even if little Natsu could have afforded a mansion the hysteria that would have resulted in a real life fire breathing dragon living next door to a small town would have made that scenario horribly uncomfortable. So it would make sense that little Natsu had grown up in caves, curled up with his 'dragon daddy' for warmth. So after whatever happened to his dragon―who knew dragons could be deadbeat dads too?―Magnolia was the closest town from wherever the little was and his very first home. His initial reservations about leaving the little town, Makarov tells her one day, were all rooted in the hope that his dad would one day come back for him. Makarov thought the little boy's determination was admirable, and decided to make the kid a Fairy Tail wizard. He even asked her to find him a cheap place to live. She did it, of course, but that didn't mean she didn't think Makarov was an idiot for feeding this kid all that false hope. She told him as much. Many times. But the bastard had gotten more stubborn with age and wouldn't budge. And as time went by, and not bright red dragons appeared in Magnolia's skyline, Natsu still stayed. He missed and loved his father. Still had so much hope. But along the way he had also fallen in love with Magnolia. And in a weird twist of fate, Magnolia and Fairy Tail fell in love with him too. As much as the town could love a hyper active pyro who nearly burned down the town every time he got little too excited. Which they did. By investing in flame resistant buildings and clothing, as well as keeping an almost paternalistic eye on their growing local hero.

If you asked Martha she would say that the citizens of Magnolia treated the resident pyro a lot better than the little twerp deserved.

 _Especially_ , she thought, _if he really is a pervert_. The second laughed.

She didn't care if he had saved Magnolia and the world several time over, if he was threatening the reputation she had dedicated the last thirty years of her life to creating she would shave him bald, make herself a new pink shawl and turn the rest of him into a rug. And Makarov could stay mad for all she care, this was her _money_ she was talking about.

 _That's it. Follow that thought,_ the hag said, sipping out of what Martha imagined to be a champagne glass, _where is it taking you?_

Martha pulled the blanket back around herself, her mind suddenly and remarkable clear, and smirked.

She knew exactly what to do.

* * *

 _Knock. Knock._

 _"_ _Hello?" She rubbed her eyes." Ma'am is that you? What are you doing here so late? Is everything alright?"_

 _"_ _Yes, yes. Everything is fine."_

 _"_ _Oh." A awkward pause filled the air." Is that a key?"_

 _"_ _Why, yes. Yes it is."_

 _"_ _Um." A blonde eyebrow raised."Wh-what is it for? Are we getting a new tenant?"_

 _"_ _Yes. Something like that." Martha smiled."Lucy?"_

 _"_ _Yes, ma'am?"_

 _"_ _Say hello to your new next door neighbour." She smiled."I am moving next door."_

* * *

this can only spell trouble right?

alternative title for this chapter: some people just love to watch the world burn, martha is one of them.

(natsu makes quite the impression in the next chapter...so look out for it.)

let me know what you think.

r&r


	7. look what the cat dragged in

thanks to all of you who have favourited and followed!

this is where all the shenanigans begin...

(deep thought, boredom, and seriously just what is that candle stick holder made out of?)

* * *

Chapter 6

 _"look what the cat dragged in"_

* * *

Martha was a lot of things, but she wasn't delusional.

Just because he was able to cover his entire arm in flames, didn't definitively mean that Natsu Dragneel was the inspiration for all these terrible rumors circulating around the town.

Martha has been around for a long time. And being a resident of a town that also happened to be the home of one of most irresponsible and famous wizard guilds in Fiore, she has seen a whole lot of magic in her time. More than she ever really wanted to. But this was Magnolia and it wasn't a Tuesday morning without some blast of magical energy shooting into the sky or someone leaping across rooftops fighting something. And for someone like Martha, who seemed to only attract over powered assholes and people with very little magical 'self-control', she bared witness to magical feats that even the citizens of Magnolia wouldn't believe. Floating office equipment. Tenants being turned into werewolves by 'accident'. Weird looking celestial creatures―seriously, what even is Plue? A dog? ―sneaking into her office and stealing all her paperclips. And then there was the time when Makarov accidentally turned the apartment building, and everyone in it, invisible.

And in her expert opinion? Elemental magic was a pretty standard type for any wizard.

In fact, it wasn't even all that _impressive_. Not when she really thought about it.

 _Hell_ , Fairy Tail had at least ten wind type wizards on their roster at any given time. Twilight Ogre was practically overflowing with earth and lightning elementals. And she had heard that, at its peak, Phantom Lord had at least twenty-three water type wizards on record. It really wasn't particularly difficult magic to learn―all it took was a moderate level of magic energy, a basic understanding of particle physics, and practice―and that was why beginner wizards usually started by focusing on one element before moving on to the more difficult, fancy stuff. But, admittedly, elemental magic that was cultivated through years of training was one of the most powerful types that Martha has ever seen. The kind of power that Makarov, light wizard saint, commanded. And it took _work_. Advanced elemental magic, the type that that crying water nymph commanded, took a high level of magic power, an iron will, and a whole heap of innate skill. If mastered to such a level it could be pretty powerful stuff and if taken further? One could obtain power akin to that bulking bald wizard saint―Jara, Jaka, Jure? Whatever. The dirt slinger.―and maybe even _more_.

But that was all beside the point. Which was: elemental mages were a dime a dozen. It wasn't necessarily impressive.

And even less impressive?

Lighting your forearm on fire.

She has seen fire type wizards come in and out of Magnolia enough times to know mastery of that particular element wasn't exactly rare.

In fact, at this point, it was nothing but a cheap parlor trick ―capable of entertaining simpletons who have never set their eyes on real magic, but offering nothing but warm air for those with experience.

Hell. She was _six_ when she first saw someone set a limb on fire and hadn't even given the fool a mere glance then. And on one particularly uneventful trip to Crocus, a couple years later, she'd even seen a man engulf his _entire_ body in flames. Her father had been the only one thoroughly amused―the thin, fragile man had asked the mage for an autograph―and she had been thoroughly embarrassed. Her mother, dressed to the nines in an extravagant assemble of silk and pearls, had been even less impressed. And that man―a circus performer wearing one shoe, tattered trousers and not much else―had clearly had very little magic training and, if the dopey look on his face and the way he had leered at her mother were anything to go on, very little in terms of…significant cognitive ability.

And based on that and the stupidity that Natsu, himself, displayed around Magnolia daily she reasoned that fire magic was fairly easy to learn. Hell. She had even seen Makarov erupt into flames when he was feeling particularly dramatic.

So despite that little…encounter it was clear that she had little to no evidence that Natsu Dragneel was anything more than a delinquent and arsonist. One that would be on the receiving end of a very large bill once she properly evaluated the damage that idiot had inflicted in her building.

But that didn't rule him out as a suspect. Nope. Quite the contrary actually.

While his magical skills and rambunctious nature didn't necessarily label Natsu as the 'flaming pervert' she was searching for, his appearance in Lucy Heartfillia apartment did raise a few interesting questions.

The first being: how the hell did he get into the apartment in the first place?

The most likely answer would have been that he used the door―but there was the mystery. Because Martha knew that that wouldn't have been possible.

Because Martha had done what she always did when it was rent collection day: sealed the front door with magical runes. It may have seemed extreme but it was a practice that she had implemented after weeks of Makarov dodging her attempts of getting him to pay his back rent by preforming shoddy teleportation spells (his voice was usually shaking in fear and his words so rushed that he ended up teleporting sans clothes on many occasions). The runes themselves were created by Yajima, a gifted letter magic user, who had felt especially guilty about the 'hard time' that the hot headed friend was giving her―and perhaps apprehensive of the situation, since she _had_ told him that she was considering saving herself all this trouble and just suing the guild in its entirety if Makarov didn't pay up―and decided to give her something to level the playing field. And this assistance had come in the form of several prewritten magical runes that could be fueled using a lacrima fuel cell, which would effectively trap the little elf in the building. And it had been extremely effective―so effective, in fact, that she had used the runes during every one of her collection rounds since then.

And regardless of what Makarov may have said, it wasn't cruel. The runes barely lasted three hours per fuel cell, so it wasn't like she had trapped the cry baby in his room for _days_. And besides the only conditions that the runes had was that anyone who didn't pay their rent couldn't leave, unless given written permission by Martha herself, and that only tenants were allowed in. It was ultimately their choice whether they were trapped for the full three hours or not. And more times than not, her tenants quickly paid up when they realized it anyway.

But that was also why Martha was suspicious.

The runes, although highly effective and powerful, had one weakness.

While the stopped access for all outside exits for the tenants, when outside visitors were concerned they only applied to the front and back doors of the building. This meant that tenants could walk in and out of their own apartments whenever they wanted, with only access to the front and back doors being blocked for them and the general public. This was mainly in place to stop any mages particularly gifted with runes from reaching the initial casting point. But because the majority of Martha's apartment building have multiple levels, with the first level of each building having only a small reception areas and no actual apartments, Yajima had neglected to expand the rune to include windows. Because who, in there right mind, would scale all the way up to second floor window of an apartment building? Someone would definitely spot them and even if they didn't it was dangerous. The side of the building was covered in grenery and vining which was purposefully slippery and the fall from that height would definitely do more than just bruise. So, it had seemed unnecessary, and a waste of magical energy, to block public access to the windows. But it also meant that the windows were virtually unguarded.

Which was fine. It had never really been an issue back then―aside from that one occasion where Makarov had smuggles a guilt-ridden Yajima through his window, after wrongfully and melodramatically blaming the young man for selling him out to some " _chick"_ , and almost escaped. And while it took a few more years for her to understand exactly how a teenage boys libido could convince him to scale the side of a building up to a window on the fourth floor knowing full well that he did not have the upper body strength necessary, her fury had been enough to scare them all away too.

And so she had never seriously considered fixing the problem. The runes did what she needed them to do. So they weren't perfect. So?

(But then again, she had never had to deal with a rumor like this one before.)

But that little magical glitch gave her the answer she needed. Natsu Dragneel must have climbed up to Lucy Heartfillia's third story window. She was sure of it.

He clearly had the physical strength required to complete such a feat, plus a flying cat, and it was the only logical answer.

Martha had arrived at Strawberry Street immediately after leaving the guild hall, and on her way out she had actually seen the pink-haired deviant gorging on food at one of the tables by the bar. And if the vigor of his actions and the sheer amount of food he had in front of him were anything to go on, then he was bound to be at the table for at least another hour. At the very least. And even if he had finished earlier, the walk to Strawberry Street from Fairy Tail was barely ten minutes. By the time he would have finished she would have been in the building and set up the runes already.

And then there was that _look_.

It was just….just…she didn't exactly know what to make of it.

It had been so peculiar. Watching how Natsu could go from ruffling up the blonde's hair like an annoying friend, completely ignoring her state of undress, to moving wisps of her hair out of her face like she was made of glass.

This was the guy that regularly faced opponents with the tenacity of a dragon and the gentleness of an earthquake. The guy who had destroyed countless building―many of them, hers―in Magnolia with nothing more than a careless sneeze. The guy who was one of the leading forces behind Fairy Tail's jaw dropping victory at the last Grand Magic Games. The Salamander. The Fire Dragon. The pain in the ass. Natsu Dragneel.

But the way he looked at her in that moment just seemed so familiar. Like she had seen that exact look―that loaded gaze―on someone else's face.

It had been so _normal_ at first.

He had looked at her, hand buried in the gold of her hair, like she had seen him look at Lucy every time before. You would have to be incredibly out of touch with Magnolia, or trapped under a rock for the last couple of years, to not know that Natsu Dragneel and Lucy Heartfillia were a pair. Where there was one there was always the other. Always a little bit of Natsu in every one of Lucy's smiles and a dash of Lucy in Natsu's laugh. Whether it be local festivals, holidays, or even those weird contests that Fairy Tail held yearly, those two were always together. And if they weren't you could bet that they would be stealing little glances at the other, just making sure that the other was there. Martha had seen it many times. The way their faces brightened with childlike glee when they spotted each other, but she also notices something deeper. A glint that they shared in their eyes. A sadness just around the edges of ever look, one of a shared loss. And while Martha didn't know much about guild life, she was sure that was something that was common amongst guild mates. Comrades. _Nakama_. Best Friends. And on that day he had looked at her just like that. Like she was his best friend. But it ran deeper than that for them.

When his hand had brushed her cheek, it had _changed_.

He had looked at her as if he was in awe.

As if the feeling of her skin against his hand had reminded him that this wasn't a dream. That she was actually here, standing right in front of him. Awake, aware and very much…alive. It had felt so intimate, so personal, that Martha had felt like a stranger happening upon something that was rare and precious, but something that they also had no business watching. If she had been anybody else she would have looked away, sporting the same pretty pink blush as Lucy but she wasn't. So she watched the dragonslayer and celestial wizard with barely conceal curiosity. Had noted the fondness exuding from the young man's laugh and the tension draining from the young woman's shoulders. Had seen Lucy―Subconsciously? Consciously?―damn near melt against his touch and heard the airy nature of her yelp as she moved away. The hitch of Lucy's breathing as his fingers, tan and clearly worked, gently graze her smooth skin. She'd watched it all, unashamedly. But his eyes. The emotion bared in his onyx eye? It had been painted so thickly that it had been difficult for her to read.

What exactly was he so in awe of? That was what she didn't quite understand.

But it had tapped into something within her. Something she had kept buried under years and years of bitterness. Something that had once been so beautiful. Something magnificent. Something completely and utterly maddening.

And she had buried it again and went home.

But it had left her with no doubt in her mind.

Natsu Dragneel was the one she should be watching.

And she would be doing just that.

* * *

 _Honestly? I only went along with this because I thought it would be exciting. Or at the very least more eventful than sitting on the couch all day was. But this?_ The hag whined. _This is_ shit _._

Ignoring the hag was now second nature for Martha and so she carried on unpacking the box of kitchen appliances from the box on the floor.

This was a good idea. She was sure of it.

She needed to keep a close eye on Natsu Dragneel, and any other suspicious characters who might make themselves known, so what better place to do that than the apartment building itself?

At least that was how she had rationalized it to the more skeptical part of her brain. The part that did not want to give up her spacious two bedroom cottage for an apartment that she hadn't lived in for years and a mattress that is older than any of her tenants. But luckily her need for comfort was far weaker than her need for sanity―which was rapidly slipping―and it won out.

And besides, it wasn't like her old apartment was terrible. In fact it was kind of...nice. It had been renovated at least twice since she had first moved out and now had the same modern layout that all the other apartments had. A modernized kitchen, complete breakfast bar. Modest living area, more than enough for one person. Large master bedroom and ensuite. Not to mention tons of windows, allowing for full use of natural light. It was a great place and living there for a few weeks wasn't going to kill her. Plus, it happened to be right next door to Lucy Heartfillia's home―so what else could she really ask for? Other than a comfortable mattress, which she could remedy with a shopping trip later on, she was set.

And so here she was, sat on the black and white tiled floor of an apartment she hasn't lived in since she was twenty-four, wonder why she had though owning three different types of toaster oven was beneficial in any way and finding herself agreeing with the hag. A little.

She sighed.

She just hadn't expected this plan to take so _long_.

She had moved into 3A four days ago and spent every night by the living room window, like some kind of creep, staring at the windows that led to Lucy's living room and bed room. And other than getting a crick in her neck from falling asleep on the couch, and the occasional boob flash from Lucy, her stakeout had been uneventful. All she had learnt was that she needed to get a new sofa, something comfortable and perhaps black, and that Lucy Heartfillia―blonde bombshell, celestial mage, Fairy Tail wizard―was actually kind of boring.

Her days were pretty average.

She woke up, got dressed, had breakfast, and left. Usually she went to the guild, other times she went to the market. And once, when Martha was particularly bored, she had followed to a cafe where, much to Martha's disappointment, she had met up with some short blue haired girl who had been reading a book that was bigger than Martha's _head_. They had been discussing the girl's affections for one of their guild mates, but their high pitched giggles and excitable yelps had given her a headache and she had left before finding out anything useful. Lucy always arrived back at the apartment late in the evening, wrote in her journal and went to bed. Sometimes she would spent ages at her desk, writing what Martha thought was a letter before crumpling it up and stuffing it into a drawer. It was strange, to say the least. And when Lucy actually spent the day in her apartment, she spent most of her time writing. God, she could do that for _hours_. And she usually did. That is until she was interrupted by one of the colorful characters from her guild. Day two had seen Erza Scarlet, sword in hand, burst through Lucy's front door and demand that she accompany her to some bakery a few towns over. Lucy had not been impressed by the door now hanging crookedly on its hinge, and Martha had quickly scribbled down repair bill. Day four had seen a nearly naked Grey Fullbuster scurry into Lucy's apartment, grab a duffle bag from her hallway closet and leave. All without even addressing the gobsmacked blonde who had opened the door for him.

And while that may have been entertaining for some people, Martha had once lived next door to Makarov Dreyer and so she wasn't as easily amused.

In fact she was getting more frustrated because not once in the four days since she had begun her stakeout has she seen Natsu Dragneel. Not once.

Maybe she had missed him during one of those times when even her sheer determination couldn't keep her eyes from sliding shut? Maybe she had over reacted to the whole flame thing? Maybe the rumors really were the invention of some bitter old realtor whose only chance to secure a sale was through slanderous lies? Maybe it really wasn't true? Maybe it wasn't him?

Doubt had started to grip her mind.

She rose from her seat on the floor and wandered over to the large window in her living room. The black candlestick holder―which she had carried with her because it would seem that some part of her was determined to carry around that old ghost―glistened in the sunlight as she sighed. The sun was now high in the sky and she could see Lucy, sat on her balcony with her black typewriter sounding as she hit the keys. And as she looked out at the town, the figure of Fairy Tail identifiable in the distance, she wondered:

 _Is this a waste of my time?_

* * *

That night, Martha decided to actually sleep in her bedroom rather than the lumpy excuse for a sofa that had been her bed for the last four days. Her back had finally had enough and her neck was so stiff that turning her head wasn't going to happen that night, so why not? If nothing had happened in the last four days, she doubted that anything exciting would happen at Lucy's apartment tonight. (And even if it did, her aching body really didn't care.) Especially since Lucy had actually come back from the guild earlier than usual today, and had been locked in her bedroom ever since. She was slightly concerned for the celestial wizard, she had seemed kind of upset.

But it wasn't her place to pry, so like a good stalker, she was going to mind her own business.

So Martha had picked up her binoculars and blanket off the couch on the balcony, and had taken herself inside for a quiet night in. All thoughts of spying, rumors and wizards pushed to the very back of her mind.

* * *

 _Tap._

What the hell?

 _Tap. Tap._

What is that?

 _Tap. Tap._

Who the fuc-

 _CRASH. THUD._

 _"_ _Ow."_

* * *

Martha has been living alone since she was twenty years old, so when she hear the crash, like someone had thrown a bolder through her living room window, she was prepared. She sat up in her bed, swinging her legs over to calmly slip her plush slippers on to her feet, and reached under her mattress and pulled out a metal bat.

Leaving the lights off and slipping her glasses back on her face, she made her way down the hall and into the entry way of the living room.

She leaned against the side of the door way, cautiously gripping the handle of the bat, and peeked in the room. The window, as she expected, was nothing more but shards of glass littering her floor. The black candle stick holder, which had once been sat against the large window, was on the floor surprisingly in one piece―an irritating sense of relief warmed her―but she couldn't say the same for the small wooden table that had been under the window. She heard the sound of a rough groan sound from somewhere in the room, she couldn't exactly tell where, but there was definitely someone else in the room. She heard the rustling of glass, the intruder must be standing.

"Well, that hurt."

The voice was male and the words slurred, as if he had been drinking and the scent of whisky filled her nostrils. He began moving, glass moving along with his steps and he neared the entry way.

Martha's grip on the bat tightened.

 _Well_ , she thought, _no use waiting here._

She moved to the center of the entry way, raised the bat above her head, held her breath, and swung.

The intruder fell with a loud bang to the floor, hands holding his head where she had landed her blow. She groped the wall, looking for the light switch and blinked as the lacrima turned on. Her breath quickened, adrenaline pumping through her veins, as she entered the room and looked at the heap of man now laying on her wooden floor. He raised his head, eyes unfocused and barely adjusted to the light, and said,

"Lu-lucy?"

"Natsu?" A high pitched voice asked as its owner swooped into Martha's living room through her non-existent window."Natsu?" He landed alongside his friend." What's going on?"

* * *

 _"_ _You hit him with a bat."_ Lucy says _."Really?"_

 _"_ _He snuck into my living room and broke my window. He deserved it."_ Pause. _"Be grateful. I could have stabbed him."_

 _"_ _How do I know you didn't?"_

 _"_ _I think you would have noticed if I stabbed your best friend."_

 _"_ _Well, I don't know. He does heal quickly."_

Pause.

 _"_ _You are a horrible person. Would you have even cared?"_ Martha scoffs _."It does not matter anyway because I didn't stab him."_ Pause. _"I just hit him with a bat."_

 _"_ _So you say."_

 _"_ _I still_ own _that bat."_

* * *

this chapter was really hard to write. not sure how I feel about it. let me know what you think!

i wrote a mother's day inspired story, check it out?

edit: there seems to be something wrong with the review system. i'm getting the emails but they are not appearing. guest reviews are also on.

next chapter will be the...interesting. here's a sneak peak:

"The whole town does not need to see you falling off my balcony, so for gods sake, use the door. _Please_?"


	8. late night conversations with idiots

opps. its here guys long and heavily unedited...but here nonetheless

natsu doesnt understand that things cost money, happy is natsu's dad, and martha just wants to sleep

* * *

Chapter 7

"late night conversations with idiots"

* * *

"Guys...? Guys. _Guys_...Are we all just gonna ignore the fact that you hit me over the head with a metal bat?"

Happy sipped his tea quietly, keeping his wide eyes trained on Natsu. And Martha just rolled her eyes. _Again_.

She has been sat on her leather comforter, drinking tea with a magical talking cat, for the last thirty minutes and Dragneel was _still complaining_.

He was clearly well enough to keep mumbling under his breathe and whining like some sort of spoilt brat. She had expected more from a member of the greatest guild in Fiore, especially a member as renowned and destructive as The Salamander. But here he was on her living room floor, moaning and groaning like she had given him brain damage or something.

He was honestly being so _ridiculous_. She hadn't even hit him that hard.

(If anything he should be thanking her. That knock to the noggin seemed to have pulled him out of his drunken stupor. And if he was lucky she may have even knocked a couple marbles back into place because _god knows_ he needs.)

But it was to be expected she guessed.

This generation of Fairy Tail was clearly more sensitive than the one she had previously known, which made sense when she considered how mushy Makarov was. The old lug always seemed to be spouting some inspirational drivel nowadays and these fairy tail kids―especially those like Dragneel who had been raised on long winded speeches, magical mayhem and the wise words of an old fool―were no different. Makarov, for all the masculine pride of his youth, had always been a big softy for little children and so she hadn't been surprised to see his guild filled with a colorful collection of children once he had become Master. And while every members of his guild was his family, she knew that those bright, sad eyes of each unwanted, unloved child that made Fairy Tail their home had given each one a special place in his overly large heart. She understood what he was trying to do. Giving a home to all these victims, even one as nontraditional as Fairy Tail, had been a kind gesture on his part but _still_. These were children. They were so delicate, so easy to break. Especially when the world had already left so many of them cracked and chipped. Children needed somewhere to call home, and while bricks and mortar would never take the place of a loving home, there was no substitute for stability. And if there was one thing a wizard guild was not, it was stable. And even though Makarov had to admit this, he had still carted in those children by the dozen. And despite the fact that she would rather do anything else than involve herself in another of Makarov's impulsive ideas, she had been worried.

So she had warned him that he was being extremely irresponsible―acting all crazy and reckless and damn near _parental_ ―and that it would only hurt the kids. Scar them for life or stunt their development or _something_.

But he hadn't cared. And as he had so polity reminded her, it wasn't really any of her business. And so she had dropped it.

And when you considered all _that_? It wasn't that far-fetched to believe that a whole thirty minutes since her bat had connected with his skull, Natsu, a fairy tail wizard, was still whining.

But _come on..._

She had hit Makarov with the exact same bat on numerous occasions and the longest he ever stayed on the floor was two minutes. And even though Martha was sure his physical resistance had all been down to that thick skull of his, she also knew that Master Precht would have had a fit if found out that all it took to incapacitate his star wizard was a knock to the head. And there was no one, living at least, that Makarov did not want to disappoint more than Precht. Martha, for the life of her, could never understand why. That man, kind and wise though he had appeared, had always felt…wrong. There was always something of about him, something just slightly off kilter. That was the overwhelming sense that she got from the Master whenever he had been near her. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and her hands get clammy like something in the universe was rejecting him, and her body was warning her to do the same. It was always a...small feeling. So tiny that if you were lost in the splendor of his position and the faux kindness of his words, you would miss it. Makarov had missed it. Or if he hadn't, he had completely ignored it. But she hadn't, she had seen it― _felt it_ ―whenever that man had been near. He was smart― _too smart_ ―and dark in the exact same way as the other side of the moon was dark and shady and he had always had very little time for weakness. It has shown in the slight cracks of his happy face, the angry furrow of his brow when his wizards had fail a mission or lost a contest, the darkness that echoed through the false comfort he'd give his ego stricken companions. And, even though he would never admit it, it was the reason the Makarov got off that floor every day.

Martha had never cared for him very much.

 _Okay_.

So maybe this kinder, genuine version of Fairy Tail wasn't all bad. Because that brightness that enveloped Fairy Tail these days? That was the reason that Natsu had yet to sit on the chair she had pulled up for him, and was currently lying on his back nursing a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits.

God. Maybe _she_ was getting soft in her old age too.

"You're fine, though." She said, shooting him a pointed look. "Right?"

He replied with a rather unenthusiastic and incoherent "I guess…" which was muffled by the sheer number of biscuits that he had managed to stuff into his mouth. But it didn't matter that he was basically grunting like some kind of ape (although it did matter that he was getting crumbs all over her very expensive, very rare black Vulcan skin rug), she knew he was okay.

His little blue friend―he had told her his name was Happy, she knew that, but…really? ―had inspected every inch of the dragonslayer as he was lying on the floor groaning obnoxiously loud and made sure his friend had a clean bill of health before turning to address her. He had then suggested, rather rudely, that she shouldn't have hit his friend as hard as she did. Mouthy little _cat_. For all his bravado, all it had taken was an extra heated glare and the sight of the silver bat in her hand to shut him up. And once the cat was quiet, she'd quickly informed him that if his friend didn't stop groaning so damn loudly―she swore the sound of it had shaken the walls―she would be forced to hit him again. Harder. Needless to say Happy was at his friend's side, with one blue claw covering the dragonslayer's mouth before she could even blink.

It was a good thing too.

The last thing she needed was for someone to stumble in on this odd little scene and draw some more far-fetched conclusions. She _did not_ need another 'flame pervert' to deal with. But Martha was still surprised that no one had come running into her apartment yet. After all the clanging and banging that had occurred and the following string of expletives that had filled her apartment once she realized just who was laid in a heap on her living room floor, she had thought that someone would have knocked on her door at least. But, no. _Nothing_. It really was no wonder that someone had been sneaking into the building for so long, her tenants were clearly all deaf. Or clueless.

(She spared a moment to wonder how, in their pleasant little town that just so happened to always be under attack, any of them were still alive.)

Martha had then decided that the situation could not, in fact, get any stranger and so headed into her kitchen to get something to drink.

She had no qualms about leaving the two boys all alone in her living room. Not when it was nearly three a.m. and she was sure standing there any longer would result in her killing someone out of sheer frustration. And she didn't really feel like going to jail tonight.

So really? What was the harm? What more damage could they do to her already wrecked living room?

With that sorted she had stepped over the boxes that were still littering the floor to reach her fridge, with another loud curse as she stubbed her toe. She was unprepared to face Natsu, or anyone really, at this time of night. Or morning. _Damn_. She really wasn't a morning person and coupled with the fact that this may or may not be the man who is ruining her reputation and threatening her cash flow, she was in a terrible mood. But as much as she would have loved to throw both the man and the cat out the window and call it a day (Or night. _Whatever_. ), she really needed to get to the bottom of all this. And throwing a dragon sized fit wasn't going to get her any closer to solving it. And so, silently preparing herself for all the stupid that was sure to make up the rest of her night, she quickly put together a platter of biscuits and filled a teapot with Jasmine before stepping back into her living room.

Natsu had still been curled up on the floor, but Happy, who now looked thoroughly unimpressed, had been seated on her leather couch. A painting, one that had also been very expensive, was now torn on the floor. And there were paw marks on the ceiling. But, using an inner strength that may have even come from her first conscience, she had resisted the urge to murder them. And so she sat next to the tomcat, without commenting on the fact that his blue fur was getting all over her couch, and offered the cat some warm milk. The three of them had then preceded to sip their respective cups quietly―the only sound had come from the manner less dragonslayer chomping on chocolate chip cookies― and skilfully ignore what had just transpired.

That is, until Natsu's outburst.

Well.

She supposed now was as good a time as any to start asking questions.

 _Finally_ , the hag exclaimed, _all this nicety was getting so boring. Now we get to have some real fun._

Reining in the sharp words her second conscious suggested, Martha took a deep breath.

"Mind telling me why you were scaling the walls of my apartment building this late at night?" She asked, placing her teacup on top of its coaster as if all this was perfectly normal. She decidedly ignored the twin rings now adorning her very expensive glass table. "Or, you know, _at all really_." She looked at him. "Yes. Why were you climbing my walls at all? That would be helpful."

"Huh?" Natsu rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. He looked confused. Or maybe, Martha thought, that was just his face. "Scaling your…what are ya talking about, lady?"

"You dropped in through my window. Your winged friend wasn't with you at the time." She deadpanned. "So you obviously climbed up the wall."

"I climbed up the wall? Really?" Natsu asked. She nodded and suddenly his entire face lit up like a firework." Really! Awesome! How high up are we? Do you know how fast I made it up here? Has anyone ever climbed up here before? Actually…"He paused and looked around the room. "You got any idea where we are Grams?"

Happy spluttered, eye widening in fear. The hag snickered. And Natsu just blinked at her.

Martha, for the good of her mental health, ignored it all.

"We're at 10 Strawberry St. You know? The big apartment block by the shopping center?" He nodded. Happy finally looked up from his fish crackers, eyes wide with realization." And to answer you're other questions: we're three floors up. That's how far up you made it. A couple of people have tried it before." She glared openly at the dragonslayer. He didn't even flinch." Don't call me Grams."

"That's so weird." Natsu said, reaching for more biscuits. "I don't even remember climbin' up here."

 _Denial? Oh. Or maybe amnesia._ The hap said, in a giddy tone that grated on Martha's nerves. _That has the potential to be interesting._

"You don't?" Martha and Happy both asked.

"Just how much did he drink?" She asked, loudly.

Happy cut the dragonslayer off before he could answer, with an exasperated sigh.

"Drink? I don't know. I kind of lost track of him at the guild. Probably a couple bottles of fire whiskey." He turned to her. "Why does it matter?"

Martha nearly choked.

"Define a 'couple'."

"He usually has three or four. But we're celebrating a job we just finished so it could have been more." Happy said, as if that wasn't already more than enough to give someone liver failure. "Is that strange?"

Martha ignored him and turned to Natsu instead.

"How are you still alive?"

He smile, sharp teeth bared as he bumped a clenched fist against his torso.

 _"Fire Dragon's Belly."_

Martha tried not to sound as impressed as she was. "And you're not drunk? _At all_?"

Natsu shook his head.

"I don't get drunk."

"How is that even _possible_?"

"I'm not too sure 'bout all the science stuff," Natsu started, "but Levy once said something about my "ridiculously high body temperature", the boiling point of alcohol and evaporation. Which basically translated to "no hang overs for life, ya lucky fire breathing bastard"." Martha quirked an eyebrow. "At least that's she said. She might have been drunk at the time."

"So you scaled the side of my building completely sober," she looked between the blue cat and the dragonslayer, "but you don't remember doing it?"

"Well…yeah?" He sounded unsure." It's honestly kind of hazy."

Martha glared at him. "And you expect me to believe that?"

"Why…" He trailed off. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Because it sounds crazy. What kind of idiot scales up the side of an apartment building for no reason? Why wouldn't you try to use the door?"

"Oh, Natsu never uses the door." Happy answered, gnawing on the fish shaped crackers.

Martha felt something in her snap, and for once the wicked cackle of the hag didn't sound so bad.

"Never?" She said in a voice that was even and flat and very, very scary. Happy dropped his cracker as her gaze settled on him, and gulped. "Just how often does he scale the side of my apartment building, huh, little kitten?"

"Well…um…you see, ma'am…" Happy scrambled for a response. He cast a pleading look at his pink-haired companion, but was met with nothing but those same mischievous onyx eyes and an amused smirk littered with cookie crumbs. "It's just that…"

Martha, who had zero patience at three a.m. and would later blame her phrasing on the ridiculously late hour, said, "What? Cat got your tongue?"

The sound of Natsu Dragneel's laughter suddenly, and loudly, filled the room, startling both her and the little tabby cat. She turned to him and watched him, head thrown back and hands gripping his sides, as chuckles seemed to rip through the young dragonslayer. Perhaps, she thought, _he is drunk after all_. A few more moments passed punctuated by Natsu's loud laughter, Happy's frightened expression, and Martha's worsening mood before she decide that enough was enough.

"Are you the flaming pervert that's been scaring away all my potential tenants?"

Both Happy and Natsu seemed to freeze.

Natsu's cheeks were still stained pink from his laughter when he mumbled, "Flaming….? _Flaming Pervert_?"

Happy had his head cradled between his little blue paws as the little kitten cursed.

Seeing as neither seemed to be offering up any explanations, she elaborated.

"It had been brought to my attention," she looked at the cat and the oversized child, "gentleman, that a rumor is circulating around our little town. One that has a personal baring on the performance of my retail business. One that threatens my livelihood." Martha glared at both of them. "One that pisses me the hell off." She turned her attention to the pink-haired dragonslayer. "And one that may just involve you, Dragneel."

"Me?"

"Yes." She shot him another look. "You. _Maybe_. I'll know for certain if you let me know the last time you used the door to enter my establishment."

 _And then you can kill him with a clear conscience._ The hag pointed out. _Or at least a clear_ second _conscience anyway._

"The door? I don't think I've ever used that door."

That was when Martha lunged. Luckily for the startled dragonslayer the glass table made it hard for her to strangle him, so she was left grasping at air and cursing profoundly. But she found a small victory in the wide eyed shock painting his features.

This was it. It was him. She knew it now. The reason she had spent these last few weeks agonizing and sneaking and worrying was sat right there in front of her. And all she could feel was...anger. She had thought―during one of the first nights sat up with her binoculars balanced on her nose and her back pressed against the lumpy, old couch―that it would feel different. She thought that after finally getting to the bottom of this stupid situation she had been dropped into, she would feel, _well_ , relieved. Because although she would never admit it out loud―she had been kind of scared. As pathetic as it was, her business, her success, meant everything to her. And that had been why while those Fairy Tail idiots had integrated themselves so deeply into her life that she wasn't sure how to remove them without losing a part of her being, she had never felt like she belonged. Like she was one of them. And it had very little to do with the lack of magic or guild mark and everything to do with her. With who she was. While they had had everything they needed in that rickety old guildhall, she had lost everything she had on those concrete steps that she had soaked in her tears. They had a family, a sense of self found through years of companionship. She didn't have that, she didn't have anything. Her _everything_ had left her with broken promises, a broken heart and an apartment filled with ghosts. While the others had grown up to have families and magic and love, she had grown up to have…this. A retail empire that she had sacrificed and bled and cried for. She had to build herself a legacy, an identity. A new start. And that was what her business was to her. It was her second chance.

This rumour had almost taken that from her.

And that was why when she looked at them all she could see was red.

"What wrong, Grams?"

She sat back.

"Natsu? Happy?"

"Yes." They both replied.

"The only thing preventing me from killing the both of you right now is a strong desire not to go to jail."

Both boys gulped. "Yes, ma'am."

"I never want to see you climbing up these walls again," her voice was trembling, but she didn't mind so much because both boys looked rightfully terrified, "do you understand me?"

There was a long moment of rather awkward silence and Martha thought that was the end of it all. That she could put this all behind her. That was, until Dragneel finally spoke.

"I-I can't."

 _Defiance too?_ The hag exclaimed. _I like this boy. He knows how to keep things interesting._

"What?"

"I can't." He said. To his credit his voice had stopped trembling and he had finally looked her in the eyes. "I can't come through the front door."

"And just why not? Is there some kind of rule that demands you enter through windows like some kind of bald ape? Is Lucy physically unable to let you through the front door? Please, enlighten me as to why exactly you insist on behaving like some kind of barbarian and ruining the reputation of the business I worked so hard to build. Why?"

A sudden intake of breathe could be heard as she finished her rant, her eyes dropped to Happy. His eyes were wide as if he had just remembered something important, and he was fidgeting nervously with the end of his tail. His gaze was locked on Natsu, who had shifted to lean against the back wall with his right knee raised and his head lowered casting a shadow over his features. For once he was not animated, no longer fidgeting and shuffling and turning as he had done all night. Yep. This was the stillest she had seen him since he had crashed through her window. And she wasn't sure why, but she was sure the sudden change wasn't a good thing.

Natsu muttered something at the floor.

"You want to speak up there, dearie?" She asked, brow furrowed.

"I'm sorry about your business, lady, but…." His voice was heavy and brittle, worlds away from the lively tone his voice had before. " I'm not sure she'd let me in if I used the door. At least not now."

Martha had always been the type of person to leave well enough alone. She enjoyed it even. There is no better feeling in this world than financial success, but the joy associated with minding your own damn business? That was a close second in her books. So, had this been any other day, any other time, any other person she would have done exactly that. All she wanted was for this ridiculous rumor to stop, and she was sure with a little more yelling and a lot more threatening she would have gotten exactly that but…there was something about the look on their faces. The sudden dullness in their eyes and the slump of their shoulders as she saw both Happy and Natsu's deflate right in front of her that pulled at something within her―perhaps the compassionate, maternal part that had yet to give up or maybe it was just the hag's desire to extend her suffering―and so she asked.

"Now, why not?"

Natsu remained still, his stance stiff as if he didn't trust her. Not that she exactly blamed him. She had basically assaulted his guild masters a few days ago. Not to mention the fact that she did just threaten him and his cat with death by blunt force trauma.

But Happy…

His voice was small and for once it seemed to match is tiny, plush body. "She's mad."

Martha turned to him. "Mad?"

He nodded. "And a little sad, I think."

Natsu mumbled something under his breathe that sounded like a cross between a curse and "Drop it, Happy". She ignored it.

"And why is that?"

Happy twitched nervously, sparing a glance at the irritated slump that had become Natsu Dragneel. "Natsu?"

The man in question let out a noncommittal sound and his body language gave away nothing.

Happy turned to her. "Lucy's mad at him."

She raised a brow.

"Is that anything new?"

"She's really made at him." Happy reiterated. "She didn't even welcome him back. Just got up and left. She looked really upset."

"Hmmm. So that's why she was all mopey today." Yes, that made sense. "I'm guessing she doesn't usually lock herself in her room after a tiff with you?"

Natsu raised his head.

"She lock herself..." He stopped mid-sentence, like he'd just thought of something and narrowed his eyes at her. "Wait. How do _you_ know she locked herself in her room?"

Martha ignored him, and turned to Happy. "So what did he do to tick her off?"

"God. _Where do I start_?"

Natsu intervened.

"Don't listen to him. He doesn't know what he's talkin' 'bout."

"For the love of Mavis, Natsu, that is a _lie_." Happy interrupted. "I know all about this whole… _thing_ between you too."

"Yeah?" His voice took on a childish tone, which, when considering he was conversing with a blue talking cat, made the situation all the more ridiculous. "And how the hell would you know?"

"I'm your best friend." Happy replied, matter-of-factly. "And don't forget, Natsu: you left _me_ too. You. Left. Me. And I've been stuck here these last few days listening to Lucy whine and mope and complain because of _you_." Happy narrowed his round eyes. "So I think I have a better idea of why she doesn't want to see you than you do right now."

Natsu slammed his jaw shut, as if Happy's words had hit him a tad too hard, and grunted like an oversized toddler. Again.

"So…" She looked between the two boys, before deciding she would sooner get an answer from Happy than the stubborn slump that Natsu had become. "Why doesn't she want to see him?"

"He left her." Happy said, plainly.

"He left her? But didn't he leave you too?"

"Well, yeah."

"So why is she so mad?"

"He left _her_." He said it like it was supposed to mean something, and as far as Martha could tell it didn't.

"And what does that mean?"

 _"_ _Everything."_ Happy said.

" _Nothing_." Natsu mumbled.

Clearly something was going on here, not that Martha was exactly sure what, and whatever that something was, was preventing Natsu from entering her building like a normal person. And that just wouldn't do.

"You." She pointed at Natsu. "Why did you leave Lucy?"

He grunted in response. She stood up, walked around the table, and smacked him upside the head.

"Ow!"

"Stop being difficult. I'm trying to help you."

"You're trying to help yourself." He answered back. She raised her hand. "…ma'am?"

"Same thing. I help you and you help me, okay? Now do you want to talk to Lucy?"

He looked up at her. "Well, of course I do! She's my best frie-"

Ignoring Happy's indignant cry of "Hey!" in the back ground, she cut him off.

"Then let me help you."

"How can you help?"

"Let's just say I have a knack for understanding people."

"A knack…"

Call it intuition, call it magic, doesn't matter. All that matters is that _I know people._ " She looked him directly in his eyes "And from where I'm standing? It looks like you don't. Or at least you don't know _Lucy_."

He frowned. "I know Lucy. She's my be-"

"Best friend. _I know._ " She rolled her eyes. "If you know her so well, then what's bothering her?"

"I…well…"

"Exactly." She said. "Listen. I want you to stop climbing up the side of the walls like some discount superhero. You want to talk to Lucy. I can help you with that."

"Okay…I guess."

"Great. I'm going to need you to tell me what happened…"

"Well, that's easy." He interrupted. "She's been acting strange ever since I got-"

"Wait." She intervened." Do you know what time it is?"

"Umm…"

"It's three a.m. It is three a.m. and I haven't slept for the last four days. And my window is broken. Do you think I want to hear whatever ridiculous situation you got yourself into right now?"

"Oh yeah. Right." He rubbed his forearm awkwardly. "Sorry."

"Oh, you will be." She looked back only to find Happy asleep and drooling on her leather couch. Ew. What you're going to do is pick up your little buddy over there and leave."

"Well, okay. But when will I-"

"Come back tomorrow. We can talk while you fix my window."

"Oh okay."

Moments later, Natsu had an unconscious Happy tucked neatly under his arm and the remainder of his biscuits stuffed in his pocket like some kind of hermit.

"Tomorrow?" He said.

"You bet."

He moved to shake her hand, but his arm brushed against her very expensive purple drapes and they burst into flames. His eyes widened and he nearly dropped Happy as he tried to extinguish the flames. She stared, in complete honest-to-god disbelief as her right drape became nothing more than ash and the left was left charred.

Natsu looked over at her nervously. She continued staring at the ash and wondering just when this became her life.

"Well, you still have the right one. Right?" He offered. She didn't move. "It's only a little bit on fire. You can still use it."

The temperature in the room dropped, and even the fire wizard shivered, as she turned to look at him.

"Natsu?"

He nodded. "Yes?"

"Leave."

Natsu dropped the ash onto the floor and moved towards the broken window.

"Natsu?"

He froze, one foot out the window and eyes wide. "Yes?"

"The whole town does not need to see you creeping out my window like some kind of pervert. Use the goddamn door."

"Okay."

* * *

this was fun to write but hardddd. hope you liked it anyway.

and thank you all for 65 follows! woah!

let me know what you thought!

R&R


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